New York, Oh New York
by Ferix79
Summary: The story of the Jones family on 9/11, and everything that followed. Most of the characters are State-tan OCs. Explanation inside.
1. Part 1

**Note**-Nearly all of the characters in this are OC state tans. Most of them are from the the State Tan Project over on devArt. Maryland and DC, however, are someone else's OCs. For links to their designs go here and scroll to the author's notes (remove spaces)- ferix79 (dot) deviantart (dot) com/art/ New-York- Oh -New-York-Part- 1 - 194681639

DC is Maryland and Virginia's child.

**WARNING**-It's about 9/11. I think that's all the warning you'll need.

* * *

The meeting was to begin at 8:00 AM. New York was one of the first ones there, of course—he always was—save for the host and the odd state or two that lived nearby to the designated city. When a meeting was held in Rhode Island, for example, Massachusetts and Connecticut were often able to arrive early if they were close to the small state's borders. Other than that, though, New York was always first or second to the meeting room.

As he pushed open the double doors leading to the conference room, New York found that he was the second to arrive, today. That was no surprise, though, because Georgia was the host and it would be bad etiquette for the host not to arrive first and have all the necessities set up. An itinerary already sat in front of each chair and a pot of coffee boiled on a small table off to the right. New York made no move toward it, though. It was probably some sub-par coffee brand and he would stick with his Starbucks, thank you very much.

The host himself sat in one of the dozens of chairs around the room, slumped down and his legs crossed out in front of him. The Southern state's attention was focused on the television that sat in the corner of the room, mounted on the wall.

"_Good morning, America! Today is Tuesday, Septe_—"

New York cleared his throat. The other state was probably just watching that to pass the time and wait for others to show up, anyway. At the noise Georgia turned, then fumbled with the remote for a moment, shutting the TV off before standing to greet New York.

"Hey, Mike!" he said, tossing the remote onto the table, "Good to see ya'." He smiled, putting his hands in his pockets as New York found the little golden nameplate with his state name on it.

"Good to see you, too." He replied, setting his briefcase on the polished wood and taking another sip of his coffee.

"Was your flight alright?"

New York shrugged. "No different than any other time. I had to fly in last night, though, so I slept through most of it." Georgia hummed, making his way over to the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup.

"So, you're the first presenter today, right?" he asked, taking a long drink from the styrofoam cup.

"Yes, I am, and would you mind if I tested this out?" New York asked, holding up a black memory stick, "I need to make sure it works." Georgia nodded, motioning in the direction of the laptop sitting at the front of the room.

"Go on ahead."

They didn't converse any farther, and within a few minutes other states began arriving. Alabama walked in yawning, heading directly to the coffee table, and the Tennessee twins stumbled in behind him, arguing about who knew what. Maryland, Virginia, and D.C. all arrived together, as usual, being the strange family-within-a-family that they were. New Jersey walked in half asleep after them, plopping down next to New York and murmuring something about an open bar and jell-o shots before folding his arms on the table and putting his head down, to which New York rolled his eyes. By 7:50, though, a good majority of the states had arrived, and most of them even looked awake and ready to start the meeting.

"Mugh…Mike…" New Jersey mumbled from beside him, poking his arm and looking up at him through squinted eyes, "Can you get me a water?"

New York stared at him for a second, but then pushed out his chair and stood, heading over to the table where the coffee pot sat, a cooler of water beside it. On his way over, he felt a very distinct poke that he knew to be Massachusetts' Cape Cod, but when he whipped around to find the perpetrator, no one was there. He narrowed his eyes and continued on his way.

Upon returning to his seat he set the styrofoam cup down and patted New Jersey's shoulder. The state lifted his head and then began sipping gingerly from the cup, looking to be slightly more awake. At exactly 7:58, America burst through the door, Hollywood smile on and mug of coffee in hand like always.

"Morning all!" he exclaimed, walking right up to his seat near the front of the room. A chorus of 'Hey dad', 'Hi daddy!', and other greetings filled the room, and all the states began moving towards their seats and settling in. Within minutes, Georgia stood at the podium in front, adjusting the microphone.

"Hey y'all! I hope everyone had a good flight in. Um… New York's up first, so let's get started." He said, then moving aside a New York walked up to the podium and plugged in the memory stick he had tested earlier. When his presentation popped up in the large screen behind him the chatter in the room died down, and he began his speech.

* * *

His presentation detailed the messy election of 2000, and what steps could be taken to prevent something like it from happening again. Overall, in New York's opinion, it had gone very well. Some of the states did disagree with him, but they were able to stay civil enough to actually talk it out and not get into a fist fight in the first half hour of the meeting.

Texas was the latest person to bring up another point, and as he stood New York glanced at the clock. His presentation was only supposed to run until 8:45, so his time was just about up. Texas had brought up a good point, though, so he was sure no one would mind them running a few minutes over.

He looked back to Texas. The more he tried to focus on what the state was saying, the more he realized he couldn't hear him. He saw the other man's lips moving, but no noise was coming out of them. And there was this buzz in the back of his head…getting louder…and louder…

—_are flying way too low. Oh my go—_

"Holy shit!" America screamed, gripping his head as a debilitating wave of pain swept over him. When his vision cleared he was staring down at his papers on the conference table, but drops of blood had begun to gather on them.

"Dad, your nose is bleeding…"

"Michael!" shouted Massachusetts, darting from her seat to the front of the room, followed closely by New Jersey and Pennsylvania. New York had fallen to the floor, and now lay unmoving. "Michael…" she said his name again when she was closer, getting down onto her knees to check on him. His eyes looked closed, she found, but they were actually open slightly, just enough to see his actual eyes. His pupils darted furiously back and forth, almost vibrating, and his eyelids fluttered every few seconds. New Jersey and Pennsylvania came up behind her, also dropping down to the floor to get closer to the fallen state.

"He's…shaking…" Pennsylvania muttered, taking hold New York's fingers. Massachusetts looked down to find she was correct—his whole body was shivering in a jerky, ominous way.

"We should move him." New Jersey said, moving towards his brother's feet. Things like this didn't happen out of the blue, he knew. Something—something bad—had just occurred in New York. What, exactly, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Massachusetts nodded, wiggling her arms under New York's shoulders while New Jersey supported his legs and torso. They shuffled over a few feet to an empty chair and sat him down in it, positioning him upright as if he himself had sat down.

The other states were murmuring frightfully, checking their phones for any messages from their bosses on what might be happening. New Jersey checked his, too, but nothing new was there.

"Oh my!" Pennsylvania exclaimed, digging into the pocket of her jacket for a small packet of tissues. Snapping his head back to his brother, New Jersey saw that blood had begun to run out of his nose. Pennsylvania did her best to stem the flow, but it surly didn't seem to be slowing down.

Suddenly, New York's eyes snapped open.

All three states surrounding him gasped, jerking back in shock. Pennsylvania let go of the tissue, which fluttered downward into New York's lap. He blinked up at them, a confused daze in his eyes, and then noticed the blood still running down his face.

"Wha' happen'd?" he asked, accepting the new tissue Pennsylvania offered him and pressing it to his nose. The other state shook her head.

"We don't know. We were all just listening to Lukas talk and then you fell down…Dad screamed, too, and his nose started bleeding like yours," she explained, glancing over her shoulder to where several other states had gathered around their nation, "Something must have happened in your state, and, well, it must have been pretty bad."

New York sat there for a few more seconds, trying to process what she had said. His mind was a mess; thoughts and emotions flying every which way. Finally, a thought, a memory from that morning, became clear in his mind.

"Th' news." He said, pointing in the direction he thought the television was in, "Turn id on." New Jersey looked up to a corner of the room to find that there was indeed a television mounted on the wall. The corresponding remote sat below it, so he quickly maneuvered around the other states and scattered chairs to grab it and turn it on. Once the other states caught on to what he was doing they began to shush each other, and soon silence reigned in the room.

All they found, however, was Good Morning America still playing on ABC, going through their normal programming. One of the states shouted 'Turn it to CNN!', so New Jersey glanced down at the remote and hit a few buttons.

Still nothing—CNN only had commercials playing. America groaned, lifting his head to see what his states where up to.

"Give it a few minutes, guys, somethin'll show up…" he mumbled, several tissues also stuffed under his nose. Just as he finished his sentence, the commercial cut off.

For a split second, complete silence enveloped the room, all the states much too in shock to react to what they were seeing on the screen. New Jersey blinked several times and looked again, not sure what he was seeing was real.

On the screen, it was a beautiful, clear day in downtown Manhattan, save for the tower in the center of the shot that had smoke billowing out of its sides.

"Th-that can't be real!" someone cried, and, as if the floodgates had opened, chatter filled the room. Some could only mutter 'My god…' while others were on the phone immediately, trying to reach their bosses. New Jersey backed away from the mounted television. He agreed—that just _couldn't_ be real. Someone couldn't just sneak a bomb into the World Trade Center. They—they had fixed that!

"…_unconfirmed reports this morning that a plane crashed into one of the towers of the World Trade Center…_"

"A plane?" said Massachusetts, scowl already forming on her face, "Who the fuck flies a plane into a tower?" No one answered her. There was no answer, really.

New Jersey turned around completely, facing his brother. New York, too, was gazing up at the screen in disbelief, Pennsylvania now holding several new tissues to his nose. New Jersey walked back over to stand next to his brother, looking down at him with worried eyes. The injured state seemed to be alert, but every other minute or so his eyes would gradually began to droop and fall out of focus, only for his head to snap back up again.

It was 8:50 AM, and all they could do was wait. They flipped back and forth between the major news stations, hearing eye witness reports that—to them—confirmed that a plane had indeed struck the tower. The haze in New York's mind only grew, and when Pennsylvania asked him to hold the tissues for her so she could call her boss he didn't even respond. She shook his shoulder lightly and called his name, and nearly a minute later he turned his head in her direction. She asked again, but the state just gazed at her with glazed over eyes. Finally, New Jersey took up the job so Pennsylvania could step away for a moment. A quiet, uneasy lull had taken over the conference room.

A loud crash caused all the states to whip their heads in the direction of the television. Delaware had moved up closer, trying to get a better look, and it seemed that he had fallen over a chair.

"T-th-th-there were people!" he shouted shakily, pointing at the screen, "Someone leapt out of the tower and fell to the ground. I-I saw it!"

More worried and alarmed murmurs filled the room and New Jersey glanced back to his brother. Still out of it, he found. New York probably hadn't even heard the other state's claim.

"Hey, don't say that!" Oklahoma said, running her fingers through her hair nervously, "It…it could have been something else—a table, or a chair—that someone used to…to break a window or something! I mean the people in the upper floors…they're probably trying to get air…" she bit her lip. There was no way to deny it—nothing good could come from this.

"No! It was a person! It had to be—they must be jumping because they think they won't be saved…" Delaware trailed off sadly, gripping the edge of the table to get himself off the floor.

"Don't say that!" Oklahoma shouted, this time, "Just—just don't!" Tears began to form in her eyes, and Virginia suddenly pulled her into a hug, which she gladly returned.

"Alright, that's enough. Delaware you might be right, but let's not talk about it, okay? We'll all…we'll all find out eventually if that's really true, anyway." The older state said firmly, glancing to the TV and then back at Oklahoma. Delaware said nothing and turned back to the screen.

Minutes later it wasn't New York or America that screamed first, but Florida.

"There's another—!"

America had to bite his lip till it bled to stop himself from screaming out in pain. Another wave of mind numbing pain swept over him, and he struggled to keep conscious.

New York did not keep himself so restrained. He immediately pitched forward in his seat, fingers gripping and scratching at his head as if he was trying to get at something underneath his skull. On the actual impact he only grunted a few times, but when a ball of fire rose from the building on screen seconds later, the state screamed. It wasn't a long or even particularly loud scream, but it was enough to make the other states wince. New York—the second oldest state and one that many looked up to—had, to most of them, never sounded so helpless and hurt. New Jersey, too, felt a sharp jab of pain in the back of his mind. As he kneeled down to check on his brother he realized that many of his citizens worked in those buildings, too, and he would no doubt be feeling the after effects tomorrow.

"Mike?" he mumbled, tossing the used ball of bloody tissues away and yanking a few new ones from the packet, "Mike, can you hear me?" He received no response, but he didn't really expect one, either. When he tipped his brother's head up again, though he was shocked to find that the blood had begun to drip much faster out of the his nose.

"Christ!" he exclaimed, stuffing the tissues under the other state's nose but not being quick enough to prevent some of the liquid from dripping down into his brother's suit. It didn't show much on the black, of course, but the ugly red and brown that his white dress shirt and blue tie were stained only made the situation more alarming.

New Jersey grumbled when he saw that he had missed the blood dripping down his brother's lips and chin, and reached back to the table to grab more tissues. There were only two left, and he cursed. The ones he was using would surely run out fast.

"Hey!" he shouted, addressing the whole room. The states quieted down to listen to him. "Can someone go find some medical supplies or something? Tissues aren't going to work forever, and god knows what else will happen…" he muttered the last part, but he knew that everyone else had heard it. Hawaii, Nebraska, and California volunteered to go search around the building and, with uneasy glances back to the television—now showing both smoldering towers—they left the room.

With a sigh, New Jersey turned back to his brother. Tears had begun to form in the other's blank, pain filled eyes, and New Jersey frowned. He didn't even want to imagine the kind of pain his brother was in, but at the same time he hated to just sit and watch the older state suffer. He knew that there was nothing more he could do, though, so he pulled one of the nearby chairs closer and sat down, still holding the reddening ball of tissues to New York's nose. He was still unresponsive, much to New Jersey's frustration, and the few wet coughs that New York gave over the next few minutes were the only sign he was still conscious. The rough motion from the coughs caused the tears to begin rolling down his cheeks, mixing with blood, and leaving New Jersey wishing that his brother would just pass out already and put himself out of his own misery.

A hand on his shoulder caused New Jersey to snap out of his thoughts.

"I'm going to call the doctor." Virginia said when New Jersey looked up to her, "George has given me his number and said he should be within the city. We might be able to get to him pretty fast." New Jersey nodded, and Virginia turned away, going to find a quieter place to speak on the phone. In the background the television played on, whatever news station they were currently tuned was calling foul play on the plane crashes. To New Jersey, there was no other explanation.

A pained groan caused the state to look back up to his brother. New York's eyes were scrunched shut, but then slowly he opened them, glancing sideways to him.

"Sean?"

New Jersey nodded. The other state took a few shuddering breaths through his mouth, then lifted his hand to wipe at the wetness on his cheek.

"Am I—" New York's body suddenly seized up, his eyes widening in shock. New Jersey furrowed his brows, but suddenly his brother began shaking his head, like he was trying to get away from something. It started off slow, but soon the speed of his movements increased and New Jersey could barely keep the tissues under his nose.

"What—no, Mike, it's okay! It's alright, just stop moving!" he said, standing to keep a better grip. His words attracted the attention of several of the states, including Massachusetts. She moved over to them, and was shocked at New York's state.

"Jesus, Sean what's wrong with him?" she asked, wanting to move closer but afraid she would hurt or frighten the other state more at the same time.

"I don't know. He just suddenly woke up and—"

"No! Stop it, get out!" New York shouted, his voice alarmed and shaking, as he lunged forward, nearly falling out of the chair. Luckily, New Jersey caught him across his chest and forced him to sit back. Massachusetts grew more worried by the second.

"What—"

"Nononono…please! Please don't! No, don't jump! Don't—Ahh!" he shouted again, reaching out a hand and then letting it fall before he gripped his head again. This time, New York thrashed around so much that his brother was forced to let go of the tissues, and they dropped—soaked with blood—into the injured state's lap. He coughed again—still that horrible, wet sound—and more flecks of dark liquid fell onto his suit.

The state continued speaking, but it was toned down to more of a mumble, a soft, panic stricken, alarmed mumble, and he occasionally raised his voice to a normal speaking level. All of the states in the room now—save for the few taking care of America—had their eyes on New York. Suddenly, Massachusetts gasped.

"I understand!" she exclaimed, "He wasn't talking to any of us; he was talking to the people trapped in the buildings. He can…see what they're going through…" she trailed off, a sinking feeling taking over the room. New Jersey's frown deepened and he glanced back to New York—the blood from his nose was still running freely, forming almost a puddle of blood in his lap. He tipped the state's torso back up, only to have the blood run down his pale face. It was better, he supposed, then allowing his brother to sit in a puddle of it.

Thankfully, the three states that had left for medical supplies came back, bearing rolls of gauze, medical tape, and cotton balls. New Jersey snatched one of the rolls out of Nebraska's hand and unwound a fistful of it, putting that under his brother's nose and then tearing off more so Massachusetts could clean up as much blood as she could. Virginia also came back in.

"The doctor's nearby." She reported, "And he said he can set up some rooms at Piedmont Hospital. He'll call back when he's ready, and he's going to send a helicopter to pick up anyone who's injured."

"They can land a helicopter on top of an office building?" California asked, ripping some gauze for Pennsylvania to clean up America.

"The Secret Service can." Virginia replied, making her way over to New York, and the states returned to mumbling amongst themselves.

"How's he doin'?" she asked, kneeling down to look in New York's eyes. They were frantic again, darting back and forth as he continued to whisper to himself. Virginia didn't question the mumbling, so New Jersey didn't explain it to her.

"Not well, to say the least." Massachusetts said, tossing aside a wad of now blood stained gauze. Virginia took notice of the injured state's tears and reached up to wipe them off.

"Oh, hun…I…I don't know what to tell you…" New Jersey wasn't sure if she was talking to him or New York, but he didn't reply anyway. She wiped the teas from his other cheek, too, before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead and standing. "I'm going to check on dad." She said simply, turning to the other side of the room.

New Jersey didn't answer, only hearing her heels 'click-click' across the floor as he tipped New York's head up straight again. He kept falling forward…

At the exact same time, two screams rung out in the air. One right behind New Jersey, and he and Massachusetts whipped around to find that Virginia had fallen and was clutching her chest.

The other came from nearby the television, where DC had sat down to watch the unfolding events on the screen. He, too, shouted, and then collapsed against the table nearby, his hand hovering over his shoulder but not touching it.

"Leslie!" shouted Maryland, rushing to the fallen state's side. South Carolina followed close behind and dropped to his knees next to Maryland when he was close enough. Virginia removed her hand from her chest—on the left side, right below her collar bone—to reveal a dark, growing spot on her shirt. All three of them gasped at the sight—again, red blood seeping through a white shirt—and South Carolina called for some gauze and tape.

"Alex," Virginia mumbled, biting back her obvious pain, "Please, go check on Lester. He must have felt that, too." Maryland looked at her for a moment, then to South Carolina, then back at her. He didn't like that idea, leaving her here with the other southern state, but his son could also be in grave danger. She leaned forward a bit, but he spared her the effort of moving any farther and closed the space between them in a quick, but loving kiss.

When Maryland pulled back he immediately stood, making his way towards his son, but not before catching a very jealous look in South Carolina's eyes. North Carolina, however, soon took his place, a roll of gauze in hand.

Delaware was luckily nearby DC, and had already grabbed some gauze and tape to use after they figured out what was wrong. It was easy to tell what hurt, as DC's hand was still hovering over his shoulder, but maneuvering the capitol's trench coat and shirt off would prove to be more difficult, no doubt.

"Les…" Maryland said when he got close enough, taking hold of his son's other hand. DC looked up, eyes blown wide with panic, and Maryland felt his heart wrench. "Let's… let's try to get you fixed up, okay?" he said, trying to keep an even voice. Delaware had already tried getting the capitol to take his coat off, as he told Maryland, but to no avail. Maryland nodded and, though it took some prompting, finally got DC to stand.

The right arm of the coat was relatively easy, as it was his left shoulder that was injured. It took a great deal of convincing from both his father and Delaware to get DC to just bend his left arm out straight. The capitol groaned and bit his lip hard when he did, and Maryland almost didn't want to see what was under the thick fabric of the trench coat.

"Oh, good god…" he muttered after finally slipping the sleeve off of DC's arm. Not only had the blood seeped through the shoulder of his shirt, but had managed to also seep into the collar and halfway down the sleeve, ending at around his elbow. Delaware also gasped, and all the color had drained out of DC's face. Maryland was quick to grab his good shoulder and force him to sit back down, lest he faint and cause more trouble for them all.

"We can't get his shirt off him normally…" Delaware muttered when Maryland began unbuttoning the buttons on the dress shirt.

"Well what do you suppose we do?" the state asked, perhaps sounding a bit harsher than he had intended. Delaware didn't answer, but instead hurried over to the podium and leaned down to look inside it. He pulled something out, and then came back over, offering the pair of scissors to the worried state. Realization dawned on Maryland's face and he immediately took the object, mumbling a quick thank you as he slipped his fingers though the holes.

"Perhaps cutting up from the cuff would be best…" Maryland mumbled, assuring himself more than anything, but the state beside him nodded anyway. He took his son's still outstretched arm and slipped the blade under the fabric, making the first cut up the sleeve.

Delaware's idea turned out to work brilliantly, and soon DC's shirt was cut away from the cuff all the way up to his collar. That fact, however, didn't make finding and burned and torn open shoulder that lied under the fabric any easier.

"It's alright." Maryland said, smiling at his son and turning the capitol's face away from the wound, "Edmund will get you all bandaged up, don't worry." Maryland remained on DC's right side, a hand on the boy's left cheek to keep him from looking at his arm, while the other state was on the left, tearing off pieces of gauze to pat away the copious amount of excess blood that dripped down his arm.

The Carolinas, taking care of Virginia, found a similar wound. The edges of the injury were a horrid, burnt brown, and the blood had soaked down Virginia's front. Working together, though, with North Carolina ripping off pieces of gauze and South cleaning up the crimson fluid and then placing a large swath of it over the wound, Virginia was, physically, at least, stabilized much faster than the other three injured members of the family.

After a few minutes, DC had resigned to clenching his eyes shut and gripping his father's hand for dear life to fight off the pain. Maryland hated to see him so distressed, of course, but he was glad to feel how strong the other's grip still was. Both DC and Virginia may have been in pain, but they were a far cry from the unresponsive, yet still massively bleeding New York.

Maryland would later wish that he hadn't let his gaze wander away, because when it did his eyes fell back on the television screen, and the now gaping hole in the side of an all too familiar building. His gasp caused DC's eyes to open, and he followed his father's gaze to the screen.

"No!" he exclaimed, attracting the attention of Virginia, now sitting in a chair with South Carolina's suit jacket wrapped around her, to protect her decency. She first glanced to her son, wincing at his similar wound, but then her eyes, too, found the television screen and her jaw dropped open.

"The Pentagon! But how…?" she said, shaking her head, not wanting to believe that the smoldering mess on the screen was really one of the country's most famous and important buildings.

"Somebody must'a snuck a bomb in there!" a state behind her shouted, and her eyes widened again. The Pentagon was one of the most secure buildings; surely they could detect something of that much destructive force? The answer didn't matter now.

"But all those people!" she said, knitting her brows in concern and shaking her head once more, "All those people…" she trailed off, her gaze still locked on the screen as the news station confirmed that it was not a bomb, but a plane that had struck the building, seemingly on purpose. Suddenly, though, a thought dawned in Virginia's mind and she gripped the edge of the table, stabilizing herself as she slowly stood up.

"Leslie…" South Carolina said, moving to help her, but Virginia waved her hand at him, holding the front of the suit jacket closed with her other. He stepped back, and she moved forward on shaky legs towards Maryland and DC. When the other state noticed her approaching he immediately pulled another chair up close, taking her hand as she sat down. Virginia moved their linked hands over top of DC's right one, and the capitol looked back at his mother for a moment before returning his gaze to the television, all of them watching the events unfold. Delaware finished wrapping DC's wound as best he could, and then moved away, patting Maryland on the shoulder as he passed.

At 9:58, New York started shaking. It was just like when he first collapsed—he was almost shivering, and it was only ever so slightly noticeable. New Jersey noticed it first, tugging on Massachusetts hand to get her attention. Both states just glanced at each other, as if the other had an answer, but said nothing. New Jersey looked up to the television for a split second, but only found the image of the still burning towers playing. Just as he looked away, though, out of the very corner of his eye, he thought he saw one of the towers distort or bend, he couldn't really tell. It was all in slow motion, his gaze turning back to his brother just in time to see the other's eyes widen in panic and his arms fly up to grip his head again.

He screamed. He screamed _so_ loud that New Jersey was sure that he would die. It had happened before—states or nations dying. They always woke up a few days later, but that didn't make the thought or experience of it any less terrifying. The way his brother was screaming, though—and good ilord/i he was screaming bloody murder—New Jersey thought, just for a second, that dying temporarily might have been better for New York.

It all happened in a matter of a minute, and halfway through New Jersey realized he didn't even know why the other state was screaming. He looked up, not even bothering to try and cover New York's nose, to find Massachusetts' gaze locked on to the television, so he looked up—

Oh my god it was _falling_. Not even falling but collapsing, just collapsing floor by painful floor and leaving a cloud of dust taller than any building in New York in its place.

"How on Earth can something so big just…just fall down? That building's been there for years! It's…it's the tallest in the city, it can't be just…gone?" he heard Massachusetts say, panic obviously creeping into her mind. The thought of it was truly mind blowing. All of those millions of tons of concrete and steel and glass… where would it all go?

America, on the other side of the room, reacted similarly to New York. California and Colorado had not only been trying to patch up the wound that he had received from the Pentagon disaster, but also keeping gauze on his nose constantly when the tower began to collapse. America felt it coming and burst out of their hold, falling to the floor and screaming just as New York had, though for not as long. He convulsed, though, like he was having a seizure, as each floor pancaked atop one another, and eventually fell deathly still.

New Jersey tore his gaze away from the television as soon as the tower was out of sight, afraid of what condition he would find his brother in.

New York, like his father, lay completely still on the ground, having fallen out of the chair after his brother let go of him. His knees were curled in towards is chest and his hands were clamped over his ears, like he was trying to block out the noise around him. The state's eyes were wide open, staring blankly into nothing, and a new round of tears had already begun to pour down his cheeks. Blood continued to run freely out of his nose and onto the carpet, and he coughed every few seconds, more blood now being expelled from his mouth. The other state paled, though, when he saw the red liquid trickling out of New York's right sleeve.

"Mandy…" he mumbled, almost as if being quiet would make the injury go away, "Mandy." He tried again, this time a little louder. Massachusetts turned around to look at him, but her gaze almost immediately fell to the state lying on the ground. She, too, took notice of the blood that now stained New York's hand.

"Oh my god…" she mumbled, rubbing the heels of her hands into her eyes. It was all becoming too much to bear. "I don't even want to know what that is."

"We…we need to get him sitting up again. C'mon…" New Jersey crouched down, beginning to pry his brother's hands off of his ears.

"Why don't we just leave him on the ground? He might fall back down there anyway—I really don't think he can hold himself up." She said, still standing.

"If we do that he's going to swallow all of the blood coming from his nose," New Jersey said firmly, almost glaring back up at the other state, "Plus, we'll have to take his jacket and shirt off; something's up with his arm."

Massachusetts didn't argue any longer, kneeling down to tip New York's head up while the other state finally got his arm to straighten out somewhat. New Jersey motioned for her to help him lift New York into the chair, and Pennsylvania came over to assist them in the meantime.

"Goodness, it seems like it's never going to end…" she mumbled as she straightened New York's good arm and slipped it out of his suit jacket. The other two states didn't need to respond—they felt the same way. Even while removing the jacket from his bad side New York didn't make much noise, only a few grunts and whimpers when Massachusetts accidentally brushed against his blood stained shirt. They were not surprised when they found the growing patch of blood under the jacket, but at the same time horrified. What remained under the blood stained shirt itself remained a mystery.

"Hey, Edmund, where are those scissors you were using before?" New Jersey called out to the other state. Delaware quickly scampered back to the table where Maryland sat and grabbed the blade, weaving between the mess of chairs as quickly as he could to pass them off to New Jersey. Just as the other state was about to thank him, Pennsylvania cried out.

"Ahh!" She immediately gripped on to the nearest table, steadying herself so she wouldn't fall from the sudden stab in her left arm. She turned her head just slightly, not wanting to see what had happened, but caught sight of red in the corner of her eye. Steeling herself, she turned her head to find a small, burned gash in her upper arm. "What on Earth…?"

"Izzy!" Delaware called, bounding over to her. He offered her a chair and then called for someone to bring him more gauze. "My god, it never ends, does it?" he said, pulling up a chair beside her.

Pennsylvania gazed at her wound for a moment more, and then thanked Rhode Island when he came bearing a roll of gauze and tape. "No…" she shook her head, "I suppose it doesn't." Delaware set to work tearing off a large strip of the gauze to dap away the excess blood. They didn't say anything more, leaving Pennsylvania to her thoughts. She thanked heaven as she realized that the injury didn't feel like it had affected any of her major cities. Something horrible had happened in her state, but it would have been much worse had somewhere like Philadelphia or Pittsburg been hit.

Although New Jersey worried for his sister, he remained focused on the currently more important task of caring for New York. With the scissors in hand, he grasped his brother's limp right arm and started at the shirt's cuff, snipping the fabric apart all the way up to his collar. When the strips of his shirt fluttered open, New Jersey and Massachusetts found a large, foot long gash slicing along New York's upper arm, oozing blood. Both states froze for a moment, too shocked and horrified to move. A few seconds later, though, New Jersey felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's…try to clean him up a bit, yeah?" Massachusetts muttered sadly, offering the other state a small smile and a roll of gauze. New Jersey didn't smile back, but took the roll and a deep breath before tearing of some gauze and pressing it to the open wound. Massachusetts grabbed more gauze to hold to the injured state's nose, and then set about the task of unbuttoning New York's shirt.

"Why are you doing that?" New Jersey questioned, tossing aside the soaked strip of gauze before beginning to wind more around the gash. He felt it would never be enough, though, as it would surely bleed through eventually.

"I was thinking," she started, and the other state could see her eyes growing teary, "What if the other one falls?"

New Jersey halted his work for a moment, stunned by the frightening, but very, very possible revelation. With wide eyes he turned back to his brother's arm, trying to focus on another thought, but nothing worked. Massachusetts was unquestionably right.

Once New York's shirt had been slipped off and most of the blood around him cleaned up, there was little else for the states to do. Georgia's doctor called him back around 10:20, confirming that he had space at a nearby hospital for all those injured. The host state reported the three other injured—Virginia, DC, and Pennsylvania—and hung up soon after. He reported the news to the rest of the states, but little was said in reply. The damage was already done to their family and country, and no doctor would ever fix that.

All of the states then just sat and waited, tending to the injured if anything was needed, but not much else could be done. A small gash had appeared on America's shoulder corresponding to whatever had occurred in Pennsylvania, but it was easily cared for in the face of his other injuries. New Jersey and Massachusetts remained to be the only two who cared for New York, but they didn't mind. Many of the others were in too much shock to move, or they were too frightened to come over and see the powerful state's horrid condition.

Massachusetts still held a ball of gauze to New York's nose, the blood flow not letting up, and the two had basically given up trying to do anything more. Nothing more _could_ be done until New York was in a proper hospital.

Suddenly, a rather rough cough that turned into a broken sob caught both state's attention.

New York blinked once slowly, and then several more times. New Jersey leaned in closer, trying to get a look at his eyes to see if they were actually focused, and they were. Those blue, blue eyes darted around for a moment, catching sight of both states caring for him, and suddenly they moved closer, so he could see both of them without looking different ways.

"Michael?" Massachusetts said softly, reaching a hand forward to sweep some of his hair, dampened with sweat and blood, out of his eyes. New York only sat there, blinking a few more times before he took a shuddering breath.

"M-Mandy?" he asked, voice shaking, "Sean?" they both nodded, wondering what was going through New York's mind. Hopefully he wouldn't start screaming out to people he couldn't see like earlier, New Jersey thought.

"How're you feeling?" New Jersey asked. He knew it was a stupid question, but perhaps it would get his brother to focus on something.

"I…I…" New York tried to start, but couldn't come up with anything to say. He let his gaze wander down to his right arm—he felt a strange ache there—and Massachusetts' hand followed his movements.

When New York found himself looking down at a bandage—hastily wrapped and now beginning to tint pink—something clicked in the back of his mind, and it all started to come down on him. New tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes and he took in a breath that turned into a sob.

"Oh my god, why does it hurt so much? Please…m-make it stop. I don' care how, just make it stop…" he said, voice broken and shaking, and gripped hard onto the arm of the chair with his left hand. A tear fell down Massachusetts' cheek, too, and she quickly pried his hand off the leather and took it in her own, pressing her forehead into his hair. New Jersey just stared at the two at a complete loss for words, then slowly brought his right hand up to grip New York's own right hand, hanging limply off to the side. He had never seen anyone, much less his own brother, so heartbroken.

"Don't squeeze with this hand, okay? It'll only make your arm worse…"

He then moved around to the side of the chair and, taking one last glance at New York— tears still leaking out of his now closed eyes—, slipped an arm around his brother's back, pulling him slightly forward off the back of the chair. Massachusetts, with both of her hands occupied, couldn't copy New Jersey's half hug, but pressed closer to New York nonetheless.

Minutes later the shaking started again. New Jersey and Massachusetts both braced themselves for what was to come, tightening their holds on their fellow state, brother, friend, crush. They heard him take in a short, sharp breath, and then it began.

Across the room, America gasped suddenly and went stiff, but then almost immediately fell forward into his state's arms. The pain and weight of the days horrid events had finally become too much, and he lost consciousness.

New York, at first, only bit his lip and whimpered, shaking becoming more pronounced while the other states in the room began to gasp and shout at the images still playing on the screen. When he heard someone, he couldn't identify who, murmur 'It's alright…' he finally let himself go.

The scream was—just like the previous tower's demise—bloodcurdling and impossibly pained. New York began to struggle against the two holding him, but neither let go, even as a similar gash began to tear its way down his left arm.

In the background, a second cloud of dust had risen across New York City.

"_Good lord…_" Came the voice of the anchor, "_…there are no words_."

Some minutes later—no one knew how soon, and no one cared to know—a medical team armed with several stretchers burst into the room. New York, like America, had gone limp. New Jersey and Massachusetts finally pulled away, and were glad to see that he had. At least he was out of his misery, now. Two men of the medical team quickly approached them with a stretcher and loaded New York on, pressing a cloth to his open wound to try and stem the flow. America was also lifted onto one, and the other three injured states whisked out of the room.

Hastily grabbing their belongings, all of the remaining states began to filter out of the room, set to carpool to the hospital and begin the long and painful recovery that lay ahead. New Jersey offered his suit jacket to Massachusetts, the front of her blouse now covered in New York's blood, and she accepted it, following the other state out of the room when he turned to leave.

The drive to the hospital was a quiet one, but they supposed the whole country was quiet, today.

* * *

I know this was a very rough read, to say the least, because it was sure difficult to write. The next two parts, though, are not as, uh, graphic and depressing. (This is part 1 of 3, by the way).

-The meeting takes place in Atlanta, GA.

-I know a few New Jersians, and it's not their accent I find funny, but the fact that they say "Can I have a water?" rather than "a bottle of water" or "a cup of water".

-It's part of my headcannon that America actually gave birth to all of his states, hence the family-like terms and allusions.

-The 2000 presidential elections in America were a mess because votes from some states had to be recounted several times. Even today the results are still contested by some.

-The first plane hit the North Tower at 8:46 AM. The words in italics are a quote from flight attendant Amy Sweeney. She called the American Airlines flight operations center minutes before the crash and was on the phone with them until the plane hit the tower. Basically, those were her last words.

-Its part of my headcannon that the nations/states can, on occasion, see through their citizen's eyes, so to speak. That's why NY could hear the flight attendants words(she was a New Yorker) and why, later in the fic, he starts screaming at the people in the towers.

-If you search YouTube, you can find the exact live footage of CNN and ABC from that morning.

-People trapped in the upper floors of the North tower began jumping before the South tower was even hit. This continued, out of both towers, for over an hour and a half.

-The Pentagon, of course, was one of the buildings hit in the attack. Technically, the Pentagon is in Virginia, but that land used to be part of DC, so I feel like he felt it, too.

-On the Doctor thing-Its part of my headcannon that each state, along with America, has several doctors that know who the states are and are always ready to care for them in a time of crisis. Since everyone was in Georgia, George's doctor was the easiest to access. Also, Piedmont Hospital is a large hospital in Atlanta.

-The gashes on NYs arms are actually part of his cannon set up by his creator. The head injury thing was more my idea, but I wanted to include both.

-That last quote was said by the CNN anchor as the North tower collapsed. I've just always liked it, for some reason.

A basic timeline of the attacks (all in EST)-  
8:46-Plane hits the North WTC tower  
9:03-Plane hits the South WTC tower  
9:37-Plane hits the Pentagon  
9:59-South WTC tower collapses  
10:03-Plane goes down in a field in Pennsylvania  
10:28-North WTC tower collapses

All the states belong to their creators.

**Remember** this isn't a place to debate what happened on 9/11 or who's responsible. If you want to talk about that, go somewhere more appropriate.

I promise I'm not a crazy depressed person. I'm just a writer (I'm going to go hide in a corner now) 


	2. Part 2a

**1 Day After**

One day after the attack, Virginia woke in a sterile, white hospital room. Maryland sat beside her, his head resting on the edge of the sheets and their fingers intertwined. She felt her upper chest wrapped securely in bandages, and a slight ache encompassed her whole body.

"Alex." She whispered, her voice soft from disuse, and shook their intertwined hands a bit. Immediately the other state snapped his head up, eyes wide open with dark bags under them. He blinked rapidly a few times, and then his eyes fell on her.

"Oh! You're awake." he said, smiling in relief. His voice, too, was quiet, and now Virginia saw why. Looking around the room more, she saw her son in a similar bed on the other side of Maryland, and a number of cots lined up against the opposite wall of the room. The room itself was quite large—nearly the size of the meeting room they had used the previous day. The cots, she realized, were filled with other states, all sound asleep.

"What happened?" she asked, and Maryland's smile fell right off his face.

"You…you don't remember?" He looked quite pale, Virginia noticed, but that could have had something to do with the dark circles under his eyes.

When she realized what Maryland was assuming, she was quick to clarify her question. "Oh! No, no, I remember what happened yesterday. I'm sorry." Maryland breathed a sigh of relief at that, squeezing her hand once, "I meant after the attacks…I only remember up till when I climbed in the helicopter…you weren't with me then, right?" Maryland nodded.

"Yes, I had to leave you when the medical team began to take the injured up to the roof. After that we all left the meeting and came to the hospital. By the time I got here you and Lester were already out—the doctors said they knocked you both out before treating your wounds." he explained. Virginia hummed and placed a hand over her bandaged chest. It was almost hard to believe that everything had really happened.

"Why did they knock us out?"

"You were both in a lot of pain. Plus, they had to clean the wounds, so that would have been horrible to be conscious through." Virginia nodded in agreement, "But I agree with what they did. I wanted to talk to the both of you when I got here, but it was a good decision at the time, I suppose."

Virginia looked away from him, gazing out the large window that took up most of the east wall of the room. Two silhouettes, other states, she figured, sat on the sill and she squinted her eyes to get a better look at them. The morning sun streaming in from the window made it difficult to tell.

"Is that Isabel? She's alright?" Virginia questioned, identifying one of the figures on the windowsill.

Maryland nodded. "She wasn't too injured. They treated her wound and gave her some pain medication, but other than that she's fine. She and Delaware woke up about an hour ago."

"What time is it, anyway?"

The other state pulled back the cuff of his dress shirt and looked at his watch. "7:04." He said, and then something clicked in Virginia's mind.

"You haven't been up all night, have you?" she asked, a motherly tone to her voice. Maryland smirked when he knew he had been caught.

"Yeah, I was. I had to wait up for you and Lester, though. What if one of you had woken during the night? I couldn't just risk leaving you to sit alone in the darkness for hours." He said, smiling sweetly at her and leaning forward to kiss her cheek. She gazed at him, disapproving, for another moment before giving in and returning the smile.

"Such a good father…" she mumbled, sighing.

"I try."

After that Maryland leaned forward and settled his head on Virginia's leg, setting his glasses aside and allowing his eyes to slip shut. He had never thought about sleeping the night before, but that didn't mean he wasn't exhausted. Virginia threaded her fingers through his hair and reclined into the hospital-issue pillows behind her, letting her head fall to the right to face the other hospital bed in the room. There, DC slept soundly, wired up to several monitoring machines just as she was. His shoulder was wound tight in bandages, too, no doubt.

"I really want to stay awake till Lester wakes up…" Maryland muttered, as if reading her mind. She looked back to him.

"No, you go to sleep, okay? I can keep an eye on him, and Izzy and Edmund can, too. You've been awake for so long; just rest now…" she trailed off, continuing to stroke his hair in hopes that he would nod off faster if she did. Silence fell over them after that, and if Virginia listened closely she could even hear her son's slow, soft breathing. In such a horrible situation, it was very comforting.

The more they sat in silence, though, the more questions Virginia came up with. She didn't want to disturb Maryland, but they ate away at her mind.

"Babe?" she finally said, just as soft as before, and Maryland opened his eyes, "Where's dad? And Michael…are they both alright?"

The other state shut his eyes again for a second, but then sat up, rubbing them with his fingers. "Dad…he's okay. He's in a different room, actually just the next one over, but he's doing…well, I guess." He begun, sitting back in his chair and crossing his free arm across his chest, "I went and visited him a bit yesterday, but he's out like a light like you two were. He had worse injuries, obviously. Dr. Frank—he's the head doctor—said that, for dad, the attack on New York City and the collapse of the towers was kind of like a head injury. His nosebleed—and Michael's, too—was from bleeding in his brain. He didn't go into detail, and I didn't want him to, but he said he'll probably wake up in a few days."

Virginia only nodded. It could have been worse, she supposed. Overall his condition didn't sound too bad. "And Michael?" Maryland sighed.

"Michael is…not well. They have him in his own private room so they can monitor him closely. He can't even breathe on his own, last I heard."

"How did that happen?" Virginia asked, knitting her eyebrows together in concern. The other state shrugged.

"From what the doctors and nurses told me, it all happened over night. During the day he was being worked on most of the time—having his arms stitched up and all—and at night they expected him to just sleep and start recovering," he crossed one leg over his other and leaned forward a bit, "But about half an hour after they left him, he stopped breathing." Virginia gasped, bringing a hand up to her mouth, "Don't worry though—Sean was in there with him, luckily. He called a nurse, who got Michael breathing again, but around an hour later it happened again. After that they called Dr. Frank and he told them to put a breathing tube down his throat, so that's what they did."

Virginia let out a soft 'oh…' lowering her hand. "Well…how is he now?" Again, Maryland shrugged.

"The nurses last came in an hour ago…maybe an hour and a half. They always update me on what's going on, but from what I understand ever since around 3 AM he's been the same. It seems that Sean stayed up all night, too, though." Virginia smiled sadly at that.

"He's a good kid when he wants to be, hm?" Maryland nodded, sighing and flopping back down into Virginia's lap. She giggled, threading her fingers through his hair again and, unbeknownst to them, they attracted the attention of Pennsylvania and Delaware.

"Leslie?" came the voice of Pennsylvania as she stood from the windowsill. Virginia looked up.

"Oh, good morning Isabel. Are you feeling better?" she asked as Maryland snuggled closer to her.

"Please, I'm fine! How are you feeling? You've been out since nearly noon yesterday!" The other state asked, crossing the room with Delaware in tow.

"I am…" she sighed, searching for the right words, "I'm very…shocked, I guess." She looked to the large window, "This was the last thing any of us expected, I think." Both the other states nodded, but then a movement on the other side of the room caught their attention.

A mop of dark, messy brown hair slowly rose from one of the cots, its owner rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and yawning. He blinked a few times, looking over in Virginia's direction, and then his eyes widened.

"Hey y'all, Leslie's awake!" West Virginia shouted suddenly, throwing the blanket off of him in one swift movement. He stumbled out of his cot and over to the next one, smacking its occupant until he woke.

"Owen! Oweeenn! Wake up, Leslie's up!"

"Alright already, shut up, will ya'?" shouted Kentucky, flailing his arm at the other state as he sat up, his hair mussed from a night of restless sleep. West Virginia dodged the hand and bolted away, leaving his brother to grumble and stretch as he got out of bed and made his way toward Virginia.

"How're you feelin'?" West Virginia asked once he was close to his sister.

"A bit beat up, but okay, thank you." she said with a smile as the other state began to make their way out of their cots, woken by her younger brother's screams. Soon the room was filled with chatter as Virginia's bed was surrounded by her worried siblings. Virginia eventually shook Maryland's shoulder lightly, waking him from his doze, and forced him to go lay down elsewhere.

"We'll wake you as soon as Lester wakes up, okay? I promise." she had said, his fingers still intertwined with hers. He didn't like it, but eventually Maryland gave in, but only after a kiss from Virginia, much to South Carolina's chagrin.

By 8:00AM, the goings on in the room had calmed considerably. The few states that had slept in America's room had also been woken and had come in to visit Virginia, and many of the states that had been in Virginia's room went to visit their father. He was still out cold, they reported back. Massachusetts and Pennsylvania had tried to go visit New York and New Jersey, but they found the door shut and the curtains drawn. They resolved to come back in a few hours, though, because New Jersey might have been asleep and they didn't want to wake him.

And maybe, partially, it might have been because they weren't sure they were ready to see New York lying in a hospital bed, pale and unmoving and a tube stuck down his throat. Maybe.

As the morning wore on the states filtered in and out with breakfast foods, all still chattering amongst themselves uneasily. Several states, mainly Southerners, were seated around Virginia's bed when a groan interrupted their conversation. All of their heads soon turned toward its source—DC had woken up.

How Maryland woke at nearly the same time and rushed over to his bedside was beyond them, but Virginia was glad for it.

"Dad…?" the capitol mumbled sleepily, blinking at the bright light of the white room. He didn't even think about moving his arms—they felt as heavy as lead and DC barely had the energy to keep his eyes open.

"Yeah," Maryland said, positioning himself in hopes that at least some of the light from the window would be blocked, "I'm glad to see you awake."

DC didn't respond immediately, allowing his head to fall to the left.

"Move out of the way, assholes!" Virginia screeched, but put a smile on her face as soon as the other states parted and she could see her son, "Good morning, sweetie." She said, all Southern and sugar sweet.

DC blinked slowly once more, still looking dazed, " 'm so tired…" he managed, turning his head back toward his father. Maryland smiled softly.

"Just…just go back to sleep then," he said. He didn't actually want his son to fall back into what seemed like a never ending slumber, but it was probably for the best, "But before you do, you're feeling fine otherwise, right? Not too much pain?" He motioned to DC's shoulder.

The capitol looked to his left, not that he could see the bandages, but then shut his eyes and shook his head.

"Alright, good." Maryland ran a hand through his son's hair once and then took his hand, just to reassure him. He only received a weak squeeze in response, but it was better than nothing. He and Virginia exchanged looks for a moment, but then Maryland plodded back over to his cot, collapsing back into it.

"So…" California said, breaking the silence that remained after the incident, "Speaking of feeling tired, is anyone else feeling, like, sore?" He rubbed his arms, looking uncomfortable. Ever since he had woken there was just this _ache_ that seemed to encompass his whole body.

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Massachusetts spoke up. Behind her, Connecticut nodded. "But I think I know why. I'm sure you remember what it feels like during a war," California, along with many of the other states, nodded and mumbled. It had been some time since a particularly brutal war, but when war hit the states, it hit them hard. On a good day they just felt tired, but on a bad they could barely garner the strength to get out of bed. "Well, I was thinking about how that might connect to the attacks yesterday. There were…many people, to say the least, who died, especially in the towers. Those people could have been from all over the country, so maybe that's what we're feeling. Some of us probably had larger amounts of citizens die yesterday, and we're feeling that after effects of it."

California frowned. She may have been right, but knowing the cause didn't make him feel any better.

"If that's true," Pennsylvania spoke up, causing the mumbling that had started to die down, "Then Michael probably had the most citizens die…" she trailed off sadly, and everyone was silent for a moment, "But don't you think that the next state that had the most casualties would have been Sean? There are thousands of New Jerseyians that travel to New York City every day for work…many of them very well may have been in those buildings."

"Maybe you should go check on 'em again, hm?" Georgia said, standing from his place beside Virginia, "You know how he is—how they both are—they'll both take all the shit in the world and not say a thing about it. Michael and Sean may like to go off in their own little worlds sometimes, but they're still part of this family." He finished firmly, and everyone began to mutter amongst themselves again. Pennsylvania nodded.

"Yes, you're right George— I'll go check on them. Would you like to come with me, Mandy?" She turned to the New England state. Massachusetts nodded, and they left the room without another word.

They made their way quickly down the hall, Massachusetts having to nearly jog to keep up with Pennsylvania's hasty steps. If New York wasn't awake, Pennsylvania wouldn't have been surprised, but she had to admit that she was worried about New Jersey. It was nearly ten in the morning now, and no sign of life had come from their room.

"What if the door's still closed?" Massachusetts asked, breaking her train of thought. The other state thought for a moment.

"We'll just go in. If Sean is really that tired he won't wake up from just us opening the door."

Just as she finished speaking, they arrived at the still closed door. The curtains were still drawn, and it looked as if no light shown behind them. Pennsylvania glanced to the other state and they nodded to each other, placing her hand on the door knob and turning it. The door opened into the dark room without a sound, just as they had imagined it would. Its layout was very simple—on their left was New York's bed, along with a myriad of blinking and whirring machines, and on the right were two chairs, a set of drawers, and a cot. In the cot, of course, was a lump that was obviously New Jersey, facing away from them.

"He looks like he's still asleep." Massachusetts whispered, and the other state nodded. Pennsylvania took the first step, almost hesitant, into the room, and her sister soon followed. When they were only a few feet into the room, however, a long, pained groan broke through the silence.

Both the girls immediately stopped in their tracks, glancing at each other before looking down to New Jersey. The noise hadn't come from New York, they were sure, but New Jersey didn't look like he had moved, either. They looked at each other again and Massachusetts shrugged, but just as they were about to step farther towards New York's bed, they heard a grunt along with the squeak of a shifting mattress.

Looking down, they saw that New Jersey had rolled over on the cot and that he was indeed awake. Neither of them could see much in the dark room, but Pennsylvania noticed that he looked very…off. His gaze was different, somehow, and when she took a few steps over to his bedside and kneeled down, she found his eyes glazed over and full of worry.

"Izzy?" he mumbled, tilting his head slightly toward the state. Massachusetts hesitantly inched closer to the cot, peering over her sister's shoulder.

Pennsylvania nodded. "Hello, Sean. Are you, um, feeling alright?" The other state closed his eyes for a few moments, then opened them again. It was as if his whole body was in slow motion.

"It hurts." was all he said, and Pennsylvania cocked her head.

"What does?"

"Everything." Another short, exhausted sounding answer. Massachusetts looked to the other state for an answer, and Pennsylvania furrowed her brows.

"Sean…can you sit up?" she asked. His eyes flickered to hers with a 'do I have to?' look, but she didn't back down. The male state gave a heavy sigh.

Massachusetts and Pennsylvania watched, in surprise and sympathy, as New Jersey tried and failed to lift himself up with his arms. After a good minute he finally managed to push himself up about a foot, only for his limbs to give out and his torso to go crashing back down onto the cot.

"I can't, dammit, stop making me embarrass myself!" he finally cried, his voice cracking as he rolled over to face away from his sister and bury his face into his pillow. Pennsylvania frowned and looked over her shoulder at Massachusetts.

"Perhaps you should go find a nurse." The older state only nodded, quickly turning and leaving the room. Pennsylvania looked back to her brother with sympathetic eyes and placed a hand on his cheek. "You poor thing…"

New Jersey didn't respond, so the other state began to stoke his cheek softly with her thumb. He did, however, relax after a few moments, tension slowly beginning to melt out of his body. After a minute or so he didn't look so much angry as he did exhausted and upset.

The other state, luckily, returned quickly, an older, plump nurse right behind her. Massachusetts moved to turn on the lights, but the nurse stopped her.

"Not yet. There's a reason we left those off." The state immediately stopped, letting her hand fall to her side. The nurse made her was over to New Jersey's cot. "What seems to be the problem?"

Pennsylvania looked up at her. "He's in a lot of pain, and he's exhausted, as far as I can tell. He…probably had many of his citizens die yesterday, so we were thinking that was the source." The nurse nodded.

"This is New Jersey, if I am not mistaken?" The state nodded, "Yes, then, that sounds correct. A bit strange, though, because he was so adamant about keeping vigil last night for his brother. I could tell he was tired, of course, but nothing like this." she said, motioning to New Jersey. Pennsylvania didn't say anything more.

"Well, since it seems that he's just in pain, the best remedy would be just a morphine drip. That will make him drowsy, too, so he'll be able to nod off right quick. That's all he needs, for now." She left without another word, and Massachusetts stepped up next to Pennsylvania. The silence remained for a few more moments.

"The planes came from Boston, you know."

"Malinda, please…"

"I know, I know. I shouldn't feel responsible or anything, but…" she sat down in one of the chairs, sighing, "I can't help it, seeing them like this."

"The fact that they all came from Boston means nothing more than the fact that they were all heading to California. No one in this family should feel responsible for anything that happened yesterday." Pennsylvania said, resolute. Massachusetts didn't respond, and a few minutes later the nurse returned with a tall metal pole mounted on wheels. She turned the lights on, this time, and then with practiced hands, slipped the IV needle into one of New Jersey's veins. He twitched at the poke, but within minutes the morphine took effect and he was visibly much more relaxed. The nurse left soon after that, shutting off the lights and leaving the door cracked.

"This won't be fixed in just a few weeks, will it." Massachusetts said, turning her gaze to New York. Seeing the state with an oxygen mask over his face was strange, to say the least. He did look somewhat at peace, though, despite the bandages wound tight around his arms.

Pennsylvania still had her eyes on New Jersey, now sound asleep. "No, it will take much longer than that."

* * *

**2 Days After**

On September 13th, the states saw the remains of the twin towers and the damaged Pentagon for the first time. Rhode Island had brought his laptop for the meeting and managed to connect to the internet through a little café down on the hospital's first floor.

Most of the states cringed and looked away after seeing the scorched sides of the once white building and especially after seeing the empty shell that was Lower Manhattan. Dust and debris still coated the streets, and several of the buildings surrounding the twin towers had also been destroyed, only adding to the devastation.

Rhode Island saved the pictures to his computer and then ventured upstairs. Virginia and DC might want to see them, someone had said, so he brought his laptop to them. Both of the injured states could get out of bad if they wanted to, but the stress and shock of the event still bogged them down often, confining them to their hospital beds for rest.

When the elevator finally brought the small state to the correct floor, he found Virginia and DC in their beds, as expected. Virginia was awake, chatting with several of the other states, but DC seemed to be asleep, or at least resting. Maryland was at his bedside, so the capitol's father must have been talking to him, Rhode Island decided.

He offered to show Virginia the pictures, and she reluctantly nodded. Pulling up a stool, Rhode Island opened his laptop back up and brought up the first image—the destruction in New York. Virginia's reaction was generally the same to all the pictures; gasps and exclamations of 'my god…' or 'lord have mercy…', but then Rhode Island switched over to the pictures of the Pentagon.

The older state was silent for a long time, just staring at the screen with her hand over her mouth. Eventually, though, Rhode Island heard a sniffle.

"T-that's enough, Nick. Thank you." The state looked up at her to find her wiping at her eyes and South Carolina was quick to come to Virginia's side when he saw her tears. Rhode Island did as she asked, though, and took the computer off her lap, moving around her bed to DC's.

"Hey, Les, I have some pictures of the aftermath of the attacks and stuff…" he said awkwardly. There was no easy way to introduce the topic. "Would you, uh, like to see them?"

Maryland looked up at Rhode Island's voice, and DC turned his head toward him. Maryland glanced to his son then, until the capitol nodded, inducating that he wanted to see the images. Rhode Island pulled up a chair as the other state helped his son sit up.

The first picture, this time, was the remains of the Pentagon, because that had been the last image he had shown Virginia. Maryland frowned, looking very hurt, but said nothing. DC just stared for a few moments, reaching up to grip the edge of the screen, as if to assure himself that it was actually real.

"Lester?" Maryland questioned, after the silence became too heavy. His son's expression was still blank.

"I'm going to be sick."

Rhode Island immediately yanked the computer out of the state's lap just in time for Maryland to hand him a small trash bin from nearby. DC snatched it from him and retched once before proceeding to vomit into the bin. Rhode Island backed away slowly, muttering an apology before hastily leaving the room.

The states made sure not to turn on the television mounted on the wall of the hospital room for a long time after that.

* * *

**3 Days After**

On the third day, Canada and a few of his provinces paid the states a visit.

"My gosh, it was nearly impossible to fly down here. I managed to pull some strings with my boss, though, so we flew in on a private plane." He said, Quebec, Ontario, and New Brunswick behind him.

The four Canadians remained in Virginia and DC's room for a few minutes, talking with many of the states, but everyone could easily tell the nation was anxious to go see his brother.

"I can take you to America's room." Wisconsin finally offered. Canada's face immediately broke into a worried, but relieved smile.

"Yes, that would be great."

Ontario went with his father, but New Brunswick and Quebec remained in the main room. They spoke to Maine and Massachusetts mainly, asking about the other state's injuries and everything that had happened since that day.

"I'm sure it goes without saying, but you all have Canada's full support. Some of the other provinces and territories wanted to come and visit, but they couldn't because of all the trouble with the planes. You're all in our thoughts, though." Said New Brunswick, and the two states thanked her. Massachusetts looked a bit glassy eyed, Quebec noticed.

"Mandy?" he said, "Perhaps you could show me to Michael's room? We are close friends…I would like to see him, even if he is unconscious." Quebec knew that she and the other state were close, and maybe she just needed someone to vent to. Massachusetts looked up, her eyes still a bit red, and nodded.

New York's condition hadn't changed, and Quebec was shocked to see him looking so weak and vulnerable. The only difference, Massachusetts thought, was that he might have been a bit paler.

"The doctors are saying he's in a coma, now." She said somberly once they were in the injured state's room. New Jersey slept in his cot close by—his condition had gotten much better after a few days, but fatigue still brought him down often.

"Well, what do they know, really?" said Quebec, slipping his hands into his pockets, and Massachusetts didn't reply.

Canada didn't come to retrieve Quebec for a long time, preoccupied with talking to America, even though the other nation was still unconscious. Then again, Quebec just happened to spend a long time in New York's room, too.

* * *

**5 days after**

On the previous day England and France had arrived in a manner similar to Canada—ushered in quietly on a private jet because United States airspace was still closed. Some of the states were thrilled to see them while some were not so thrilled, but eventually they met up with Canada and holed themselves up in America's hospital room.

"So the lad is not doing very well, I see." England began, striding over to America's bedside. France followed, but said nothing.

"I wouldn't say that…" Canada said, trying to be optimistic, "He's just been unconscious for…five days…" he sighed, collapsing back onto the small couch that was in the room. There was little to be optimistic about. "At least he's not as bad as Michael."

England hummed, reaching down to stroke America's cheek with a somber look on his face. He had made the rounds, visiting each of the other injured sates before coming to see America. Although he and New York had never been that close, he was greatly saddened by the boy's state.

"Perhaps his body is just taking its time in recovering. I think few nations have had to withstand an attack of that magnitude." Said France, moving to sit next to Canada on the couch, "Do not worry, Matthieu, your brother is strong. You, of all people, should know that." He slipped an arm around Canada's shoulders and pulled him into a half hug.

Canada, pressed against the other nation's shoulder, muttered 'I know…' and then sighed again. He seemed to be doing that often, lately. No one spoke for a few minutes, until England pulled a chair up next to the hospital bed, but faced the other two nations.

"So do you have any idea what happened in Pennsylvania? Surely that was a mistake on the attacker's part, if not a welcome one." Canada sat back up and nodded.

"Yeah, from what I've heard it was just an accident or a malfunction or something. I mean…I feel so horrible for those people and for Pennsylvania herself, but…oh my god, if they had hit the capitol or something…" he trailed off, burying his face in his hands.

"Your brother could have died." France cut in, serious and blunt, "This whole incident was a tragedy and I sincerely hope nothing like this ever happens again, but it could have been much worse. I understand it is strange for you to say, but that plane going down in an empty field was a blessing in disguise." Across from them England nodded, giving Canada a reassuring look.

"I agree."

Canada didn't reply, only leaning his head against France's shoulder and not even attempting to stop the few tears that began to leak out of his eyes. England frowned and reached up to wipe them away. "Oh lad…"

* * *

**7 days after**

A week to the day of the attacks, all of the states felt as if nothing had changed.

Virginia and DC were feeling better, able to stay awake and walk around for most of the day, and New Jersey had recovered fully, too, but the fact that their oldest brother and father were still in comas was unsettling, to say the least.

Since France and England had arrived, the three conscious nations present had decided it would be best to move the states into a hotel nearby rather than stress the hospital day after day. Georgia had a flat nearby, so a few states stayed with him, but the rest of the family relocated to a nearby hotel with France and England 'for supervision', they had said. Many of the states protested this, but the nations eventually won out.

"I don't want you lot burning the place down, for god's sake. It's not as if I'm taking over your states." Said England firmly after telling the states of their decision. There were many grumbles of disapproval in the room until France hushed them back down.

"What Arthur said is one of the reasons we are doing this, but it is not the only. You must understand, mes chéris, that we worry about you. You are like sons and daughters to us, no matter how much he denies it, and we only want you to be comforted in this horrible time." The states said nothing more after France spoke, and that very night they all slept in hotel beds rather than cots, save for Canada, Maryland and New Jersey who stayed behind because the doctors would still not release Virginia and DC and because America and New York hadn't yet woken. Quebec, Ontario and New Brunswick tried to convince their father to let them stay, but the nation sent them home.

"There's a lot going on in our country now, too. There are thousands of people from all over the world in our airports, and you need to be there to help while I can't." he had explained, and the three had left on a private jet the night before.

But during the day nearly all of the states returned to the hospital, ever eager to keep vigil beside their father or receive updates on the aftermath of the attacks.

And it was on this day that Canada sat with Virginia, Maryland, and DC in America's room, talking about trivial matters when the speed of the heart monitor nearby suddenly changed. The all just stared at each other for a second before Canada leapt up from the couch and moved next to the hospital bed, gazing over the various machines and then back to his brother, waiting for something to happen. The two states and capitol with him had also stood, Virginia walking to the other side of the bed and looking down at her father with hope.

America gasped, the first noise they had heard from him in a week, and then slowly, very slowly, opened his eyes.

None of them knew what to do, so all four of them just stood there in silence, looking at America and America looking back at them. Eventually the nation took in a breath.

"Hey." he wheezed out, sounding exhausted despite his weeklong slumber, "I feel like shit."

Canada chuckled a bit, shaking his head before leaning down and wrapping his arms lightly around his brother. "I know, but…everything's going to be alright." He said, overcome with joy. He could have stayed like that forever had America not opened his mouth again.

"I love you, too, Mattie, but where are my glasses? I can't see a thing…" Canada released him and grabbed the lenses off a table nearby, unfolding them and slipping them onto America's face.

"That's better. Hey! I didn't see you guys there." He said, turning his head toward Virginia, Maryland, and DC, "How're you feeling?" he asked. It seemed like he remembered the attacks, Canada thought, or maybe he was just being polite.

"I'm—We're better. It's been a rough week, but we're better." Virginia said, smiling down at her father. America's expression fell.

"A week? It's been a whole week since—" he didn't continue, placing a hand over his mouth in shock. Canada frowned, too. Seeing his brother awake was so relieving, but it certainly didn't mean everything was okay again. After another moment America closed his eyes, covering them with his hand, instead.

"I have a headache…" he murmured, and then Canada noticed the sunlight streaming in the window. He quickly turned and wrenched the curtains shut, causing them to crash together with the force of his pull.

Though the room was darker, it took a few minutes for America's headache to fade. When he finally removed his hand from his eyes, it had reduced to a dull throbbing. He sighed, relaxing back against the pillows behind him.

"So this wasn't all a dream." It was a statement, not a question, but Virginia answered anyway.

"No…not at all." She said, pain in her voice as she rested her forehead on Maryland's shoulder. He looped an arm around her waist.

"So how's Michael?"

No one answered.

* * *

Reviews or comments are loved :) I love to know what my readers think of my works.


	3. Part 2b

**8 Days After**

The next day everyone was overjoyed to see America awake and alert. Canada had decided, after seeing his brother's sensitivity to light and sound, that the easily excitable states should be brought only in small groups to his room, so everyone took turns. Virginia, Maryland, and DC talked to him first, then hugs and kisses were exchanged and Virginia left to seek out another small group to allow into the room. The process continued quietly and calmly for most of the day, until 5 PM.

"Where is he? You must let me see him, you don't understand—!" Guam shouted as she was held back by the Dakota brothers from the rooms that America and New York occupied. She had arrived with only a duffle bag over her shoulder, meaning she must have packed hastily in her rush to finally get on a plane and fly nearly halfway round the world to see her adopted family.

"_You_ don't understand, Sam. Dad's really tired, but you can see him if you just calm down!" South Dakota said, trying to put his voice over Guam's. Really, this was a hospital! Even he and his brother had been decently quiet.

"Yeah, and I don't think Sean would let you see Mike, anyway. He barely even lets Mandy go in there." North Dakota explained, cocking his head when Guam's struggling suddenly stopped. She slowly turned her head towards him, and he immediately released her and backed away when he saw the insane, murderous look on the territory's face.

"The fact that that bitch can't get in the room doesn't mean a thing to me. Michael probably just doesn't want to see her, anyway." She yanked her other arm out of South Dakota's grip, but he didn't resist the motion, just staring at her with a confused expression as she stalked by, her nose in the air.

"Wait, Sam, Mike's—" he said after a moment, reaching out a hand, but his brother stopped him.

"Just let her go, Emmett. She'll figure it out on her own." said the Northern brother. They watched Guam as she made her way down the hallway and opened the door to New York's room, exclaiming a cheery greeting when she entered. When the door was shut again, both of the brothers just shrugged at each other and wandered off to find something else to do.

"Hello, beautiful!" she said after she opened the door. The room wasn't dark this time, as it usually was. No lights were on, but the open curtains allowed the afternoon sunlight to light up the room. New Jersey, seated at the window, jumped at her entrance

"What are you—"

"Oh, Michael! I was so worried! I watched the whole thing on TV, it was so horrifying!" she exclaimed, letting her duffle bag drop to the floor with a dull thunk. She continued her one sided conversation as she strode over to the injured state's bed, "But I'm here now, so you don't have to worry about a thing. I'll take care of you, no matter how long it…" The territory finally looked down upon New York and trailed off. She had never seen him looking so…pitiful. Her haughty and joyous expression dropped right off her face, and she couldn't think of a thing to say.

"Is there something you needed?" New Jersey asked after a few moments, sending her and annoyed glare over his shoulder. Guam looked up to him, dumbstruck, and then opened and closed her mouth a few times. She felt like a fish out of water, like someone had punched her in the stomach.

"Well, uh, I…um…" she stumbled over her words, looking down to New York again—pale and chest just barely rising with each assisted breath— and finally found her voice, "Can I have a moment with him…alone?" she asked, almost timid.

New Jersey sent her a long, hard look before turning his head back around to look out the window, his mouth a thin, tense line. "There's no reason to be alone with him—it won't change anything. You can have your moment now."

Guam scowled at the back of the state's head, but then put on a sadder and more pitying look for New York. He couldn't see her, but it felt wrong, scowling at him after the previous week's attacks.

She raked her fingers gently through his hair—now slightly tangled and greasy with sweat and oil. He probably hadn't had a bath or shower in some time, she realized, but that was understandable. Why was that tube down his throat, she wondered, along with a million other questions. The other states could inform her of what actually happened on that day, but New York was the only one she really wanted to talk to.

All she could do was wait, though, as many so many told her over the next few days.

* * *

**9 Days After**

On September 20th, the President finally addressed Congress. He spoke warmly of all the countries that had since offered help and condolences to the people of the United States, and announced a new cabinet office—the Office of Homeland Security.

America watched it from his hospital room, of course, with Canada, England, and France by his side. Some of the words about the other countries got him a bit teary eyed because he knew it to be so true. Not only had the three closest to him flown in to see him, but he had received countless calls from dozens of other nations over just two days. Flowers and cards and gifts were cluttered around his room, and some even had to be placed in the larger hospital room.

When the speech was over, though, America simply shut off the television and sat quietly, his head down.

"Alfred?" England muttered after a moment, raising an eyebrow at the other two nations before tipping his head down to try and catch America's eyes.

"Sorry…" he muttered quickly, looking up, but looking distant, "just thinkin'…"

England furrowed his eyebrows in concern. "No, it's alright…what were you thinking about?"

The nation tipped his head to the side and then sighed, leaning back into the mattress that had since been elevated so he was nearly sitting, not lying, in bed, "It's just…they're saying something like five or six thousand people were lost…and I was thinking about some of my other history. I mean, in the Civil War, six thousand was like a day's worth of casualties. And World War II, I lost a lot of guys there, too, everyday." The other three nations glanced around at each other, exchanging confused glances.

"Alfred, I'm afraid we don't understand." Said France, leaning toward America, "What do you mean?"

"I just don't know how to react to this," America blurted out, a perplexed look painting his features, "Because, like, in the wars I've been in, I've lost many more thousands of citizens. Everyone is so sad about these attacks, but…I almost feel bad for reacting so radically when I've lost many more citizens in the past and have never been this sad…" he trailed off, looking down again, playing with his fingers in his lap to distract himself.

The three other nations sat in silence for a few moments, amazed and a bit alarmed that America would think that way. Canada was the first to say something.

"Al, both those situations are completely different. I mean, a war is a war, but this was completely unprovoked. And when soldiers go to war they _know_ they might die, but this…Al, these were a bunch of innocent people. Women, children, elderly folks; no one was spared from this. You can't…you can't compare the two." He said, looking right into his brother's eyes when the other glanced back up. America still looked unsure.

"_Mon cher, Matthieu_ is absolutely correct. I know this was shocking, to say the least, but you can't think like that. Your people, and your children, need you in this hour, and you must be there for them." France chipped in, grabbing hold of America's hand. The nation look a little more convinced, now, but those blue eyes still betrayed a trace of fear.

"Those two are right, lad," England began, and America looked over to him. The other nation faltered for a moment when he saw those worried, dependent eyes, "B-but perhaps you should take this at your own pace. If you are not feeling sad right now, then don't pressure yourself to feel that way; just let your body deal with it however it will."

America looked away from the Briton, then, and stared blankly forward. "I guess you guys are right…" he sounded tired, "It's all just…a lot to deal with." He rubbed at his eyes for a moment, but not due to tears.

"You look pretty beat; how about you just go to sleep, hm?" Canada said, moving to turn off the lights. England and France agreed with the idea, France pressing a kiss to America's hand before he stood and moved toward the door.

Right before the three were about to exit the room, America spoke up. "Can you stay here?" he said suddenly.

The three nations turned at his words, then glanced at each other. There was certainly no reason to deny the injured nation any comfort.

All four ended up sharing the room that night, Canada snuggled comfortably in next to America, France on the small couch, and England in a chair, his arms and upper body pillowed on the foot of the bed.

* * *

**10 Days After**

After a week and a half, the New York Mets played the first baseball game in New York City following the attacks. America, now well enough to stand and move around, moved into Virginia and DC's larger room along with a vast majority of the states to watch the game.

They asked New Jersey if he wanted to come watch, because he usually loved New York's sports teams, but the state declined the offer.

After a rousing playing of the national anthem, the game begun. It was the first time, America noticed, that they were all watching a baseball game without fighting. Georgia cheered on the Braves, but nothing demeaning about either team was uttered throughout the whole match. Though in a sterile, white hospital room, the presence of nearly the whole family made it feel like they were all actually at the game. They even managed to convince the hospital staff to serve up hotdogs.

The game ended with the Mets winning, and America kept the TV on for a few moments more so they could watch as the camera panned to the crowd, the New Yorkers cheering like no tomorrow and waving flags, banners, and all manner of patriotic signs.

"Michael would'a been so proud…" Georgia said, slumped back in his seat with his hands laced together on his lap. The other states nodded and murmured in agreement, but the sudden noise of chair legs scraping against tile floor attracted everyone's attention.

Massachusetts was standing, a mix of anger and sadness painted on her face and her jaw clenched, as if she was trying to hold something back. Her breath hitched a bit before she spoke.

"D-don't talk about him like he's dead!" she shouted, looking down and storming out of the room, bringing a hand up to her eyes just as she left. Everyone glanced at each other nervously—there really had been no other way to put it.

* * *

**11 Days After**

The fourth nation to show up in the states' hospital rooms was the Netherlands. How, exactly, he found their hospital they had no idea, but he certainly wasn't greeted with smiles and open arms. When the nation asked to see New York, everyone in the room felt the air thicken.

"Well, um…" Pennsylvania began, unsure how to respond, "Maybe now would not be the best time…"

"Please, I know we have not spoken much recently, but this would mean so much to me." Netherlands persisted in thick, accented English. The state glanced around nervously at her siblings, but they offered no help. She turned back to the nation.

"I suppose it can't hurt just this once." she finally caved, and Netherland's face broke out in a smile. After thanking her furiously he followed Pennsylvania out of the room and down the hallway to a room that was still dark and quiet.

"Sean—er, New Jersey might still be sleeping. He shares the room with New York, so just don't disturb him." she said, glancing at her watch. It was just barely past nine in the morning, so she knew her brother would most likely still be fast asleep. Beside her Netherlands nodded and took hold of the door handle, slowly turning it to make as little noise as possible.

Inside the room, just as Pennsylvania predicted, New Jersey slept soundly while New York lay still in his bed, machines around him whirring and beeping and casting a soft glow over the darkened room. Netherlands took just one step into the room and then turned to look at New Jersey, a fond look in his eyes. Pennsylvania knew that the state was his youngest son, but the two had a worse relationship than Netherlands did with New York. After a moment, though, the nation continued on to New York's bedside.

He, like so many before him, looked heartbroken when he took in the sight of New York lying there, pale and hooked up to a number of monitoring machines. He half-circled around the bed, like he was trying to see every angle of his son, as if one was better than another, but finally settled on the far side of the bed, facing toward Pennsylvania with his back to the window.

"Hallo, mijn zoon." he mumbled softly, running a hand over New York's thigh as if to reassure him. Pennsylvania realized it was Dutch, though she hadn't heard the language in so long. A sudden rustle of sheets attracted their attention and the state looked to the right just in time to see New Jersey sit up.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked up to the Netherlands with raised eyebrows, but a serious expression. It seemed as if he had expected the nation, but at the same time was surprised to find him there.

"Good morning." Netherlands said, as if he did it every day, glancing to his younger son for a moment before turning his eyes back to New York. New Jersey still said nothing, but turned to Pennsylvania.

"You don't have to stay here, Izzy." he said, barely even looking at her. She hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

"I'll be just in the other room, if you need me." The door closed with a soft click, and New Jersey moved to the edge of his cot, placing his feet on the floor and looking up to his other father.

"What are you doing here?" The question didn't have malice to it, but it wasn't welcoming, either.

"I just wanted to see my sons, especially Michael. I was unsure if you were hurt or not." he answered, running a hand through New York's hair.

"I'm surprised you remember our names." Netherlands chuckled at that.

"Of course I do." They fell into silence after that, Netherlands pulling up a chair to sit beside the hospital bed.

The nation was the one to break it, turning to his younger son. "Have you slept here ever since…that day?" New Jersey nodded. "That's good. I'm glad you care for him so much."

"Course I do…" the state mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean that I thought you didn't care about him. It is just that the stories I hear about you two from America or England involve the two of you arguing more than getting along." He tried to keep his tone light—he really hadn't meant to offend the state.

"Well this time was…different."

Netherlands nodded. "That's very true." They were silent again for a few moments, and then it was New Jersey who spoke up.

"You have no idea how…frightening it was to see him like that." he begun, and Netherlands cocked his head, "All bloody and his arms torn open and that blank stare…I don't think he's experienced something this bad since England attacked New York City during the Revolution. And then we finally all got here and the doctors said he would be fine; he would just take a long time to recover, but then they were about to leave him alone in the room overnight. They wanted me and Massachusetts to leave." he continued, and Netherlands wondered if he had told this to anyone else, "Mandy didn't want to leave, but she gave in eventually anyway. And it was like one in the morning and I was still arguing with the doctors about staying in his room. They _finally_ gave in and brought me a cot, and you know what happened half an hour later?" Netherlands knew it was more of a rhetorical question, but he shook his head anyway.

"He stopped breathing. Just stopped. It took me a minute to notice it, actually. The nurses got him breathing again, but then an hour later the same thing happened. That's why he has that tube down his throat." New Jersey said, his voice shaking just ever so slightly. It sounded as if he had finished, so the nation opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted, "He could have died if they had left him alone."

The last sentence was more of a hushed mumble, but Netherlands still heard it. "That is quite scary. You're a good brother for keeping an eye on him like that."

New Jersey stared at his father for another moment and then heaved a heavy sigh, collapsing back against his cot. He couldn't decide what made him angrier: the fact that the other nation was there or that he had just told him more than he had told any of his siblings over the past eleven days.

* * *

**12 Days After**

New York and New Jersey were one of the many sets of siblings in the Jones family. Technically, all the members of the family were siblings, but New York and New Jersey were the only two that had been fathered by Netherlands and America, so that really made them brothers.

They weren't nearly as close as some of the other sets of siblings in the family, but they still cared about each other. Just because they weren't attached at the hip like America and Canada, or they didn't run around causing trouble like the Dakotas, or they didn't even bicker constantly like the Tennesees didn't mean that they didn't care for each other. They just had a tendency to show their emotions in more subtle ways—or not at all, some would argue.

But good god his brother's state of unconsciousness was starting to get to him.

It had been twelve days—nearly two weeks—and New York still wasn't awake; he still hadn't changed a bit. The doctors had said some days ago that he was probably in a coma, but New Jersey tried not to think about that. Comas could last weeks or even—god forbid—months. What was he supposed to do if his brother didn't wake up for a year?

What were any of them to do?

New Jersey didn't know what to think anymore as he sat by New York's bedside on the twelfth day, around noon. His left arm was lying across the empty section of mattress on the edge of the bed, his head pillowed on it and facing so he could see his brother's face. His right arm was up on the bed, his right hand laying over top his brother's hand.

Not with their fingers intertwined, not stroking the hand with his thumb, and not even squeezing the other hand—just lying overtop of it. It was comforting, and at some point he realized that it was only the second time he had actually touched his brother over the course of the twelve days.

The first time had been one of the nights, he didn't remember which, when he had woken up from a nightmare. It was more of a dream rather than a nightmare, though, because it wasn't scary up until the end. He had dreamt that he woke up and got out of bed as usual, walking over to look at his brother—still out cold, no doubt—and then contemplating going down to get breakfast at the hospital's cafeteria. New York looked paler than usual, he had noticed, so he had furrowed his eyebrows and walked up to the injured state. When he touched his brother's hand, it was cold as ice.

He had woken up sweating and gasping his brother's name in the dead of night, and then threw off his blanket and scrambled out of the cot. He nearly tripped in his haste to get to his brother's bedside, but when he finally got there he touched New York's hand and felt warmth. With a deep breath he had relaxed and calmed down, but that fear of waking up to find his brother dead still lingered, sometimes.

The next time he looked up at the clock it was nearly one, and he considered going down to get lunch because he was bored and hungry. He found himself in this position so often, he realized, and many times he would deny himself food for a few hours until Pennsylvania came up with something. It's not like he didn't want to eat, though, it was just…

He didn't want to leave New York alone.

Because what if it was _him_ in that bed, unconscious for twelve days and a tube stuck down his throat? He wouldn't want New York to leave him alone, so he couldn't leave his brother alone. It sounded a bit childish, he knew, but every time someone told him to go get something to eat or invited him to watch baseball, he just couldn't help but decline. He would have loved to watch baseball, but how could he go watch his _brother's_ team play and leave his brother _alone_?

He sighed, pressing his forehead down onto the sheets. He wanted to leave, sometimes, to go get food or fresh air or whatever, but it just didn't seem right. It wasn't fair to New York, even if he was unconscious.

The creak of a door opening caused him to look up, and he found Netherlands at the door.

"What?" he asked, monotone.

"Ah, I didn't mean to interrupt you, I apologize. I was just wondering how he was doing." the nation said, putting his hands up in a sign of peace.

"He hasn't changed."

"I see…" New Jersey laid his head back down, facing New York again. He was annoyed when Netherlands just stood in the doorway, but didn't feel like telling him to leave.

"Are you alright?" the nation asked a few moments later. New Jersey didn't even look up.

"No."

Netherlands cocked his head. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

He could tell the nation was a bit put off by the small sigh that escaped his lips, but he didn't care. A few moments later he heard the door close, but that didn't matter to him either.

He wasn't alone, anyway.

* * *

**14 Days After**

After two weeks, it was about time for the states to go home.

Every state had, at some point, received a phone call from their governor informing them that the personifications needed to return to their own states. New York, Pennsylvania, Virginia, and DC's bosses called, too, but the purpose of their calls was more to check up on their states rather then tell them to return home.

The President had also called, of course, and that phone call had started out relatively calm. Once America got to talking of more serious things like new laws or regulations that would be imposed, though, Canada had shut the door to America's room so that the states wouldn't hear the heated conversation the occurred.

Nevertheless, they had all been given permission to stay until the current day, that being September 25th.

By the twenty-fifth Virginia, DC, and America had all been cleared for release, and all of the states were certainly eager to go home. France and Netherlands had left the previous day, and England was planning to leave that evening. Canada had pledged to stay as long as he was needed, but matters back home had begun pressing on his mind, too.

New Jersey, it seemed, was the only one still demanding that he stay with his brother until he woke up. That morning, though, Pennsylvania and Massachusetts promised the male state that they would watch New York for a few hours, allowing America and Canada to whisk New Jersey off to the hotel for the first good meal and shower he'd had in days.

By half past noon he was back, though, sitting in New York's room as if he had never been gone. Today the curtains were open and the sun lit the room, and many other states joined him in the now cramped space. Some lurked in the doorway, and some pressed their foreheads to the glass windows from out in the hallway. The first few states to leave were due at the airport at four, and many of them would be dropped off there at the same time, anyway, because they all had flights at some time that afternoon. The last to leave would be England, who managed to get on the last flight out to London for the night in order to stay as long as he could.

It almost seemed like a lost cause to many of them, though. Today, being two weeks after the attacks, was no different from any of the other days, so there was no indication that New York would wake. They were all troubled by his unconsciousness—and some even called it a coma—but sitting there wouldn't do anything for him.

But, by some miracle, New York cracked his eyes open at just a few minutes past one in the afternoon.

"Mike!" New Jersey had been the first to notice the sliver of blue that appeared on his brother's face, but then he realized he didn't know what to do. What was the first thing to do after someone awoke from a 2 week coma? The other states around him had also begun making a commotion, the ones outside shouting to those who were in other rooms or down the hall somewhere. America, who had been by the doorway, began to push his way to the front, shouting at his children to calm down.

Breathing tube! Right, of course, they should get a nurse to remove his breathing tube first, so then he could talk to them.

"Someone go get a nurse!" New Jersey shouted, but it seemed that Georgia's team of doctors was way ahead of him. A nurse was shoving her way past the excited states, and just seconds later she was in the room and at New York's beside.

The states calmed down as she nudged America aside, shushing each other so they could hear what was going on. America moved behind her, but quickly moved more toward the foot of the bed, anxious to hear how his son was doing. The nurse shushed the few states who were still talking and silence finally fell over the room. She placed a hand on New York's cheek.

"Michael, we're going to remove your breathing tube, okay? That's the thing going down your throat, so just stay calm and give me a moment." She turned to the side after that, opening a small drawer nearby and fishing out an oxygen mask. She, along with many of the others in the room, took note of New York's wide eyes. It looked as if he was searching for something, but they couldn't know what until he could speak and tell them.

Setting the oxygen mask aside, she first slipped the elastic band over top of New York's head, still holding the tube in place. His hands began to twitch and his fingers curl, but then America took hold of one, squeezing it to reassure him. On the other side of the bed, Massachusetts had managed to get to the front of the crowd and eagerly took hold of his other hand. The nurse then put two fingers on the state's chin, tipping it at and up angle.

"Alright, this is it, and after this it'll all be over." she said, placing a hand on New York's cheek again. He whimpered in confusion, but the nurse did not hesitate, beginning to slowly slide the plastic tube up and out of his airway. With every few inches of the tube he gagged or coughed weakly, but after just a few moments the whole tube was out and being tossed into a disposal bin next to the bed.

"Good job!" the nurse said, smiling to him as she quickly hooked up the oxygen mask, "Now, I'm going to put an oxygen mask around your head, so just relax and try to take deep breaths, okay?" He didn't respond, but that was alright. He was just shocked, probably, and startled about everything being so sudden.

With the mask on and the oxygen flowing through the tube, the nurse backed away a bit, allowing America and a few of the other states to try and get a response out of the state. "He should be able to talk," she said, "but his voice will be a little hoarse and quiet." America nodded, smiling, and then focused back on his son.

"Michael," he said, leaning in and keeping his voice audible, but quiet. New York's eyes, still wide and searching, suddenly halted and he turned his head a bit toward America, who only smiled more, "Yes, Michael you can hear me, right?" The state turned his head fully this time, looking at America, but the nation couldn't help but notice the unfocused look in his eyes. "Hey…everyone is here for you, you know that? A lot of 'em are in the room and some are just outside that window, see?" He pointed over his shoulder, turning to the states who were now eagerly pressing their faces to the glass. America waved at them and they all eagerly waved back, smiling and making faces at the two. The nation soon turned back to his son, but it seemed that New York still wasn't looking at anything—not even him. Those blue eyes looked like they were just staring into nothing…

Seeing the state awake was a great thing, but he knew that New York might have some…after effects due to the violent manner of the attacks. "So, how are you feeling?"

* * *

Black. Why was everything black? His arms were like lead—there was no way he could lift them. Maybe something was covering his eyes, or maybe the room was dark, yeah, that was it.

But something _was _down his throat. What in the world…?

"Michael…emove your breathi…kay?" A voice! It sounded like a woman's voice, but no one he knew. And that was his name—Michael—so she must have been talking to him. He heard something rustle nearby, and he began to get anxious. What was that?

Suddenly something was in his hand, but it wasn't just something, but someone. Another hand, he thought, gripping his. Just seconds later his other hand was taken by someone else, and then there was a pressure on his chin, moving it upward—or what felt like up. He heard more garbled speech, but he was able to make out a few more words. "Be over"? What would be over? He didn't even know anything had begun.

The moment he felt something slimy and solid begin to be pulled out of his throat, he coughed and gagged. His hearing was growing ever clearer, he noted, because he could hear his own quiet cough. He widened his eyes, then. If there were people in this room, then why was everything still black?

The thing in his throat was gone now, and air rushed in. He coughed and gagged again—the air smelled _horrible_.

"Good job! Now, I'm going to put an oxygen mask around your head, so just relax and try to take deep breaths, okay?" Deep breaths, he could do that, maybe. He wasn't sure about relaxing, but deep breaths he could do.

Something else was placed around his head and he heard more rustling, and then gas began to rush into his nose and mouth. It smelled funny, too, but not nearly as bad as before. This air was refreshing, he found, so he tried to take deep breaths but that was becoming difficult because everything was still black and maybe he was starting to panic a bit now.

A voice stopped his panic. His name again, but this time it was a different voice—a man's.

"Yes, Michael you can hear me, right?"

America! That's who that was, his father. America must have been the one holding his hand, too. He turned his head in the direction of the noise, but was still rewarded with nothing but blackness. Now he knew something was wrong.

America said a few more things, but he really couldn't focus on them. It was hard to focus with a racing and confused and panic stricken mind.

"So how are you feeling?"

Suddenly he could see, he could see _everything_. Planes, blue sky, blue sky—_fire_. Fire, fire led to buildings falling, falling, glass falling, _people_ falling, buildings falling.

And then the _noise_. It was like a freight train, coming right for him but that didn't make any sense, because he was just seeing blue, blue sky but he heard an avalanche. Millions and millions of tons of concrete and steel and glass and _bodies_ and then—

New York didn't know who was screaming, but the next thing he knew he felt a little prick in his shoulder and then the world slowed down. His falling buildings and blue, blue sky faded to black, and the train and concrete gave way to a soft beeping and low voices that sounded miles away.

* * *

"What happened to him?"

"He panicked, I guess. Maybe he suddenly remembered everything that happened, I don't really know. But then the nurse gave him a shot—a tranquilizer, she said."

"Oh…what will that do?"

"It just kinda puts him to sleep and calms him down. He'll be awake in an hour or so, I think."

"Hmm…well, it's not like we didn't all expect this to happen. It was bound to happen eventually, anyway."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

* * *

When New York woke for the second time, it was much more gentle experience. He didn't open his eyes right away, but took a deep, slow breath. Something was around his head and on his face, something plastic, but his mind told him that it was supposed to be there, so he just went along with it. Seconds later his hearing cleared up, and he caught the tail end of someone's conversation.

He knew that voice. "Sean?" was what he meant to say, but his voice came out scratchy and hoarse, and the thing on his face obscured it, too. He heard movement, though, and suddenly there was a slight pressure on the bed.

"Mike? You can hear me?" He opened his eyes then, but he had no luck. Everything was still black. He nodded, though, to his brother's question. Excited murmurs followed that, and he heard what he thought to be footsteps moving around him.

"Hey Mike. Glad to see you back in the land of the living." another voice said, and New York identified that as America. He sounded so happy.

A few other greetings were given to him, but he only nodded to them vaguely. He was glad, though, that he could identify all of the voices. Along with his brother and father, he knew Virginia, Massachusetts, Canada, and England were in this place, wherever he was.

That was a good thing to ask, he decided. He still had no idea of his location.

His voice was still a bit shaky when he tried to ask, and then he felt someone lift the plastic thing off his face. The room still smelled funny. It took a few tries, but he eventually found his voice.

"Where am I?"

* * *

"Where am I?" America answered the question, taking hold of his son's hand again.

"You're in a hospital, Mike, in Atlanta. You were pretty meat up after those attacks." he said, and the state responded with a quiet 'oh…'. "So, um, how are you feeling?" He really hoped his words wouldn't provoke another panic.

"Uh…" the state didn't know where to begin, "I don't know…just a bit numb, I guess."

America nodded, noticing that his son's eyes were still unfocused and wandering. "Yeah, the doctors have you on all sorts of pain medication. Your arms were pretty much sliced open, but the cuts weren't very deep, they said. You might start feeling the pain by the end of the day, but they said after that they'll take you off the IV medication and give you a pill to take."

New York nodded distantly, swiveling his head around. If he remembered the order of the voices correctly New Jersey was on his left, and then Massachusetts next to him, followed by Virginia, Canada around his feet, England more toward his right and then America was definitely on his right.

"Is this room…dark? You can turn on the lights, I want to see everyone."

Only silence followed his question and he felt America's hand stiffen in his. The states and nations could only glance at each other, confused and worried. New York furrowed his brows when no one answered.

"What is it?"

"Mike…the lights are on in the room. The windows are open and everything…" America trailed off, glancing again to England, but then he remembered something.

"Oh! Here, Mike, I have your glasses." he said, pulling them out from his pants pocket, "During the attacks they must have fallen off or something, because someone stepped on them. But we got them fixed up for you!" He unfolded the frames and then slipped them onto his son's face. There was no reason to force the state to move his arms—that wouldn't end well.

New York felt comforted by the presence of his glasses—he couldn't remember a time when he didn't wear them. His vision was still dark, though, and the panic began to creep up his spine again.

"What's wrong, Mike? You can see well, right? Maybe you need a new prescription or something, it has been a while…" America's voice was starting to shake now, too, like he was desperate. Midway through his father's answer, New York began shaking his head.

"No, I…I can't….I can't…" he stuttered, attempting to form words.

"You can't what, Michael?" came an accented voice, again from his right. England, he realized.

"I can't see anything." New York finally spit out, his voice cracking. He heard America laugh awkwardly.

"Can't see, like because of your glasses? Maybe you just need a new prescription; we can get you one—"

"No!" he exclaimed, louder than he had meant to, "I can't see! Anything! It's all just…black." With just a few words his tone had changed completely—quiet, soft, and broken. A chorus of gasps and startled murmurs filled the room.

"Oh Mike..." And the next thing New York knew, he was enveloped in a familiar, yet rare smell—old leather and hamburgers. He felt a nose pressed into his hair, and then an inhale followed by a shuddering sigh. "It's going to be okay…" was all his father could offer him, but New York wasn't sure he believed it.

* * *

-I'm trying not to portray NY and NJ as too close. I know, as far as brothers go, they aren't super attached or anything, but I think here NJ is just scared and feeling over protective of NY. They won't be like this for the rest of the story, though.  
-As I said last part, US airspace was closed until Sept 15th or 16th, so it was difficult for Guam to get a plane to America, much less all the way to Atlanta.  
-Originally, it was thought that 5000-6000 people were lost in the attacks. The number has since settled around 3000, but over 6000 were injured.  
-The first major sports event in NYC after 9/11 was indeed the Atlanta Braves vs New York Mets, and the Mets won. New Yorkers flipped out.  
"hallo, mijn zoon." is roughly Dutch for "Hello, my son." I used google translator, but its a pretty simple phrase, so that's probably pretty accurate.  
-Just for clarity, NYs glasses didn't break because of the attacks. They really did fall off and get stepped on. This will mean more later.

All the states belong to their creators.


	4. Part 3a

**September**

After waking, New York spent a few more days in the Georgian hospital. Virginia, Maryland, DC, and England, however, were forced to leave late that night. After exchanging goodbyes with America and Canada, New York only received a 'Stay strong, lad,' and a pat on the shoulder from England. He didn't smile in return—not that he could see the nation, anyway.

Virginia and Maryland were next. Virginia—despite his and her state of injury—wiggled her arms around his torso and lifted him off the bed in an embrace. New York's arms still ached, but through the pain he, too, lifted them and returned the hug, hearing his sister sniffle as she held on tighter.

"You get better, alright? Me and Alex and Les can't stay here, but I'll be praying for you every night. You and all those people that were hurt. Maybe we can come visit you in a few weeks." She nuzzled into his shoulder, and then pulled away a bit to press a kiss to his temple, "I love you, and I'll see you soon, okay?" New York nodded and, though it took him a moment to find her cheek, gave her a kiss in return. Maryland stepped up after that, exchanging a quick hug and well wishes to the state, and then finally DC approached the bed.

The capitol and state hugged, but when New York felt the bandages on DC's shoulder he furrowed his brows.

"You were hurt, too?" The capitol nodded.

"Yes, but it's nothing…"

"No, I hadn't noticed, I'm sorry," Virginia, Maryland, New Jersey, and America exchanged looks. New York almost never apologized. "I hope you feel better soon." DC felt a bit awkward, hearing such a thing from New York, but thanked him anyway.

"I…I've been through it before, though," he said, thinking back nearly two hundred years when his father had found a much younger version of him splayed out in the mud, nearly half of his body covered in burns, "So don't worry about me."

New York hummed. "Yes, I hadn't thought about that."

Final 'bye's and 'get well's were exchanged, and then New York listened to their and Canada's footsteps fade off down the hallway. The nation would be dropping England off at the airport and the other three at the train station—Virginia and DC were a bit uneasy about planes since the attack.

With only New Jersey, Massachusetts, and America remaining in the room with him, New York let out a long sigh and reclined heavily back against the pillows behind him. Footsteps led over to his right where America pulled up a chair.

"Tired?" he asked, running his fingers through his son's now clean hair. The state had had a bath with the assistance of a nurse and the sheets on his bed were changed, so, at the very least, he was clean and comfortable.

"Yeah…" New York groaned, turning his head in his father's direction, "I just…I can't believe that I'm…blind. I never even knew it could happen. I mean, has anyone else had this happen to them? To any of the other nations?"

America shook his head, but realized after a moment he would have to vocalize his response. "No, not that I know of. I can ask England or France later, though; they might know something." New York let out another, albeit smaller, sigh. America frowned; it was beyond frustrating not to have an answer for his child.

"So what happens after this?" New York asked after a few moments, turning his head back to the ceiling. America cocked his head.

"Well…we have to stay for a few more days, but then the doctors will discharge you and we can go home—whichever home you want to go to, that is. I know you have several in your own state, but we can stay at one of mine if you want—"

"Go home? That's it?" New York almost recoiled from his father, surprised at the nation's bluntness, "We're just going to all leave and…and…" The state tucked his chin in close to his neck, almost as if he was curling in on himself, "…forget about this?" His voice was smaller and much softer, almost a whisper.

America knit his brows together in concern and confusion, and across from him the other two states had similar expressions. "What? No…Mike, I'm going to come live with you. A-and Sean and Mandy and whoever else wants to come can, too." He looked to his other children with expectant eyes, and they hastily nodded.

"Yeah, Mikey. We fight, kind of a lot, but I still care about you." Massachusetts said, feeling a blush burn into her cheeks. At least New York couldn't see her.

"I wouldn't just, y'know, leave you to fend for yourself. I know it's frustrating, but we can help you learn to live like this." New Jersey said tentatively. Ever since his brother had woken, he felt like he was walking on eggshells; one slip and he would upset or anger the other state.

New York, if it was even possible, frowned even more. "Aren't we going to try and find an answer? I don't know…a cure, or something, to my blindness?" The other three in the room fell silent, each just glancing at each other, trying to come up with an answer. It was a very difficult issue to address.

"Mike, I'm sorry, I really am, but none of us have an answer to that now. I can't even begin to imagine how it must feel—to be blind—but…there's nothing I can tell you…" He sighed, resting his elbows on his knees and then placing his head in his hands. It broke America's heart to say that.

New York's expression changed from stubborn to just very disappointed, and a silence fell over the room for a few moments.

"So we're going home?" the state finally asked, his tone despondent. He tilted his head downward, toward what must have been stiff, white hospital sheets. He couldn't see, so he had no reason to move his head around or even look towards the others in the room.

America answered. "Yeah…"

"Which home?"

"Like I said, whichever one you like. You have one in Niagara Falls, right? Or we could stay in your penthouse in New York, and you have that house in Syracuse, too. Or on Long Is—"

"Albany. My house just outside of Albany." New York interjected suddenly, his voice still monotone. America cocked his head at the state's answer. The home was nice enough, but he didn't think that New York would want to use it that often. It was one of the oldest homes he owned, originally built by England, but taken over by him after the revolution, of course. It had since been renovated to include electricity and plumbing, and then passed along to New York at some point, but America didn't see any reason why the state would want to stay there rather than his penthouse in the city. He was certainly in New York more often, anyway.

"Why Albany?"

The state tilted his head a bit, contemplating his answer. "I just…know it the best. I've been walking around that house for nearly three hundred years; even without my vision I could navigate through any room."

America hummed, nodding. It made sense that the old home was such a comfort to his son—the young state had, once upon a time, waddled through those hallways, gripping onto the skirts of his older sister for balance. "Albany it is, then."

* * *

**October**

Five days later, on October 1st, New York, along with America, Canada, New Jersey, and Massachusetts, finally took their first step together outside the hospital. In a few more steps they were out from under the awning by the main doors, and New York felt the hot Southern sun wash across his face. Despite the heat, New York had donned a long sleeved shirt. Under the fabric, bandages were still wound thick around his upper arms.

Massachusetts was arm in arm with the blind state, given the responsibility of guiding him for the time being. While she cracked jokes and instructed New York to not trip over curbs or down stairs, she was still glad for the state's blindness. Every so often America would snicker at his daughter's face, which had gone through several shades of pink in about twenty minutes, but, lucky for her, New York never questioned him.

"Ready to go?" America asked, positioning a duffel bag over his good shoulder, and New York whipped his head to the left. It had become sort of a habit of his over the past few days—looking at whoever was speaking. It was as if he expected that if he looked enough the world would suddenly burst into color and he would find himself looking at his father's or brother's or whoever's face, but that was never the case, of course.

The three states nodded and New York heard footsteps move ahead of him—America and Canada, probably—and then he was tugged forward by Massachusetts. Walking while blind was indeed a strange task, but he had had much practice in the safe halls of the hospital. He felt bad sometimes, like he was slowing the group down with his still uneasy, cautious steps, but America always assured him they were in no rush, anyway.

A minute later the sound of opening car doors greeted his ears and Massachusetts released his arm for a moment. Beside him New York could hear the two nations loading luggage into the trunk of their rented car, and then the other state took hold of his hands. She was leading him in between the narrow space of the cars, he realized, and in another moment he heard the 'fwump' of Massachusetts sitting down in the car and making room for him.

"Just lift your feet a bit—yeah, you're good." Just as with every one of his motions, New York took his time climbing into the car, listening to the female state's instructions. It was quite small, he realized, and his legs were cramped when he finally settled in. Massachusetts reached across his lap to shut the door, and New York recoiled from the sound when she did. He had never noticed how _loud_ that was before.

Canada and America entered the car soon after—Canada driving—and they were off to the train station. Just like Virginia and DC, New York had no desire to board a plane. America was also a bit uneasy, but he guessed that the nervousness was more from worrying about how his son might react rather than the actual flight. The only one of them flying back home was Canada, but that was only because he didn't want to spend two days on a train back to Ottawa.

"I need to get back quickly, too," he had explained, "There's a lot of talk going on around the world about these attacks. NATO is invoking Article 5 of its charter, I've heard, and my boss and I have a lot to discuss."

Article 5 of the charter was just a fancy way of saying 'We're all going to war', New York knew, but against who he had no idea. Names of Middle Eastern countries were thrown around, but no one could be exactly sure. With so many thoughts swimming around in his head, the state barely noticed the half an hour fly by in the car. Before he knew it Massachusetts was nudging his shoulder, saying that they had arrived at the station.

* * *

The train station, they found, was bustling with passengers.

"Lord. Haven't seen a station this packed since eighteen hundreds." America said, wiping away the small beads of sweat that had begun collecting on his brow. Rental cars, they found, did not have very decent air-conditioning, especially in October.

New York nodded. Though he couldn't see, the sheer noise of the people around him was all he needed to hear. He couldn't exactly say that he himself had been in a train station for some years, though. "Why do you think so many people are here?"

The nation put a finger to his chin, narrowing his eyes. "Well, it's still been just three weeks since…you know. Just like us, I bet a lot of these people don't want to be on planes right now." New York didn't answer. The state had tended to avoid speaking of the issue, America noticed, though he couldn't really blame him. "So, our train leaves in about twenty minutes. Let's go, hm?" He smiled at the three next to him. He realized, though, that he was only smiling to make New York feel better, and the boy couldn't even see his expression, so he dropped the cheesy smile quickly.

New York soon found himself being tugged forward gently by Massachusetts again and, after a few cautious steps, picked up a decent pace. Walking blind in an unfamiliar place was even more difficult, he found, because he had absolutely no idea of the layout of the area. What if there were stai—

New York gasped as he suddenly pitched forward, his foot having run into something. He managed to flail his arms out of Massachusetts' grip just in time to catch himself on what felt like stairs, lined with hard, unforgiving tile. Bolts of pain shot up both of his arms, and he slowly maneuvered himself around to sit on the stairs, teeth gritted and groaning.

"Shit!" Massachusetts mumbled under her breath, trying not to attract attention as she, New Jersey and America immediately dropped their bags and rushed to the other state's side. "I'm so sorry, Mike. There were only a few stairs, and I just kind of…forgot…" She crouched down next to him, hesitating for a moment, but then began to run a hand along his back in comfort. America crouched down opposite of her, followed closely by New Jersey. His usual scowl was in place, but the state's eyes had a slightly darker look to them.

"No, it's alright Mandy, I understand." New York managed, his face still screwed up in pain. He felt awkward, sitting there. His hands hovered just above his arms, not wanting to touch the bandaged wounds for fear they would only hurt more, and he knew that beside him Massachusetts was beating herself up about this. He had no desire to attract more attention in such a public place, though, so he extended a hand and America took it immediately, placing a hand on the state's shoulder to steady him as he lifted him off the ground.

"You're alright?" America mumbled in his ear once he was standing.

New York nodded in response, trying to put on a brighter expression. "Yeah. Let's just focus on getting home," he said, in what he assumed was Massachusetts' direction. No one corrected him, so he guessed he was right, or they were just being kind and not laughing at him. Massachusetts and New Jersey retrieved their bags while America helped his son up the last few stairs.

"I'll help Mike for a while, Mandy, if you don't mind." New Jersey spoke up, just as they were set to go. The female state frowned a bit, knowing that the boy was only looking out for his brother, but felt a bit put off nonetheless. She nodded, though, and New Jersey linked arms with his brother.

The rest of their trek to the train was, thankfully, uneventful, with New York only bumping into a few people. But he imagined he would have to get used to that, especially if he wanted to leave his house at all. The fact that these people couldn't just watch where they were going bothered him, though, because every time someone ran into him they were very likely to hit his upper arm and, in turn, his wound. He only winced and gritted his teeth—no need to slow down the rest of them even more every time someone just brushed past him.

New Jersey seemed to catch on after the third time. When a fourth person bumped into him, he felt his brother tense and could only imagine the glare he was shooting the passing human. On what would have been the fifth time, the state stepped in front of him quickly, blocking the person from hitting New York.

"Do you mind watching where you're going? My brother is blind and really can't move out of your way." New York was shocked by his brother's tone, raising an eyebrow half in surprise, and half in amusement. The human—a man, by the sound of it—muttered a quick and embarrassed apology and kept moving.

"Sean," America asked, leaning close to whisper and half scold his son, "What the hell was that?"

"People keep bumping into Mike and hitting his wounds. I just don't want him getting injured even more." New Jersey didn't even bother turning to face his father, only looking forward and tugging New York out of the way of a very rushed looking woman with a baby stroller.

America didn't respond, a bit shocked but grateful to New Jersey for noticing. Minutes later they were on their platform, ready to board. Massachusetts and New Jersey stepped onto the train first, but when the state tried to get his brother to step across the open space America stopped him.

"Here, just let me..." The nation set his bags down and stepped forward, placing his hands on New York's hips. The state flinched at the touch, turning his head to ask what was going on, but then let out a sharp gasp when he was lifted right off the platform and then placed safely on the metal floor of the train. Ignoring his son's confusion, America snatched his bags back up and stepped onto the train after New York, placing a hand on his lower back to urge him to take a few steps forward. New Jersey soon took the blind state's arm again, and Massachusetts tried to hide her smile from her father and brother. The confused look on New York's face had been just so adorable.

"Pick any compartment, guys." America said, so New Jersey led them into the nearest one. He immediately sat down, sighing contently, glad for a place to finally rest. New York reached out to find the wall and, feeling around for a seat, sat down opposite his brother. Massachusetts and America followed them in, storing their bags in the rack above and sitting next to New Jersey and New York, respectively. Just a few moments later the train shuddered, causing New York to jump a bit, and then slowly lurched into motion.

* * *

New Jersey had almost immediately fallen asleep on the ride, leaning his head against the window, and Massachusetts soon followed suit, but leaning against the opposite wall. New York, to his father's surprise, had remained awake for an hour or so, conversing with him in a quiet voice. There was so much he wanted to know, America found; mainly he wanted all the details of the days he had been out cold. America described everything he could remember, from the baseball game to New Jersey keeping a near constant vigil in the state's room. New York looked a bit shocked at that, and moved his blind gaze directly in his brother's direction for a moment.

After their conversation came to a lull, though, New York felt around for the wall of the train and then shifted towards it, slipping his glasses off and placing them in his lap before resting his head against the wall and shutting his eyes. America, looking over his three states, all now somewhat relaxed, smiled and slipped his phone out of his pocket. He typed up a quick text to Canada, saying that they had made it on their train and to call him when he got back to Ottawa, and then one to England. He really did want to find out if any other nations had ever gone blind before, but somehow he doubted it. If it had occurred during one of the World Wars he would have heard about it somehow, and he was sure none of the Europeans would ever willingly tell each other of their temporary weaknesses in any of the centuries before that. Admitting to blindness during a time of constant warfare...no, that didn't seem like any of them at all.

He hit 'send' on his phone. Should he really call blindness a weakness? Well, during warfare it definitely was, but he didn't believe his son was weak, not in the least. It would take some adjusting—and maybe a few broken dishes—but New York certainly wasn't weak just because he couldn't see.

Seeing that the message had sent, America let his hands fall to his lap and relaxed his neck against the headrest, turning his gaze to the window. They were getting off in New York City because New Jersey needed to return to his own home for clothes and other necessities, and America was also desperately in need of clothes other than his suit. He, too, owned an apartment in the city, so they would spend the morning there and then leave around 9 to hop on another train to Albany. New Jersey would catch up with them in the evening.

This was one time, America thought, that he was a bit thankful for New York's sudden blindness. They would be travelling through downtown Manhattan, no doubt, and he was unsure how he himself would react to seeing the tons of debris on the ground and the hole in the skyline, much less how New York would feel. Hopefully no panic attacks, at least.

"Ow...shit..."

The quiet murmur brought America back to the present and he looked to his right to find New York shifting around, rubbing his head lightly. The train ride wasn't exactly smooth, he thought, and it had probably caused the state's head to jostle around. Massachusetts and New Jersey took no notice of it, though, and remained fast asleep.

"You alright?" he asked, reaching a hand around to rub at the sore spot on his son's head.

"I'm fine. Just haven't been on a train in so long..."

New York must have been very tired, America thought, because just seconds later he placed his head back against the wall. However, within another minute he was grumbling and rubbing his head again. America sighed, but smiled at the same time. His eldest boy could be so stubborn, sometimes.

"C'mere." The nation looped an arm around New York's waist and pulled him across the empty space in between them. The state gasped, surprised, and flailed a bit, clamping a hand down on his glasses so they wouldn't fall from his lap.

"W-what—?"

"Oh, calm down, Mikey. I just hate seeing you bein' so stubborn. It's okay for you to be comfortable, too, you know." Once he had tugged the state close enough, America released him, moving his hand back to his own lap. It took New York a moment to figure out what his father wanted him to do, but then he realized that America's shoulder was much more comfortable than the wall of the train.

America's cell phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket, a new message from England greeting him. He read it and sighed, letting his head fall back against the headrest again. After a few minutes of contemplating the message and sending a reply, the nation glanced over to the state beside him and was happy to find that New York had already fallen fast asleep.

* * *

"Mike…Mike…c'mon, Michael, wake up."

New York's eyes slowly fluttered open at the calling voice. He _was_ awake, but everything was just so dark…

"We're getting off the train, Mike. If you're not up in a minute I'm going to carry you."

Oh, yeah, the blindness. Knowing that more sleep was now a futile attempt, New York cracked his eyes open, expecting sunlight to blind him but only being greeted by darkness.

"Here're your glasses," a wiry frame was placed into his hands, and he quickly unfolded them and slipped them on before a hand took his, "Alright, let's go." Only America's voice was present thus far, so he assumed that Massachusetts and New Jersey had already left the compartment. He stood and, with the nation's guiding hand on his back, made his way down the hallway of the train, stopping when a hand slipped up to his shoulder and turned him to the right.

"There's stairs right ahead of you, so watch your step." He nodded, feeling for the guiding bar on the wall and cautiously venturing downwards. After just three steps another hand, this time in front of him, grabbed hold of his.

"Just one more step down and you'll be on the platform." New Jersey's voice, this time. He took another, larger step and found himself safely on solid ground. His brother pulled him away from the train so America could step down after him.

"Alright, almost home, finally." America said, stretching his arms above his head. New York yawned, linking arms with New Jersey when the state nudged his side.

"Where are we, anyway?"

"New York City, of course!" New York's stomach dropped. He _had_ been feeling strange ever since he had woken up, but he hadn't been able to put his finger on why. Now he understood; simply being in the city made him nauseous.

New Jersey frowned when his brother said nothing in response. "You alright?" he asked, low and quiet so America and Massachusetts, now walking in front of them, wouldn't hear.

The state gave a shallow nod. "I...I think so." New Jersey hummed, and the two followed their father and sibling in silence through the rest of the train station. In all honesty, New Jersey wasn't sure how he himself would react to seeing the destruction. America's apartment was in Manhattan, but he silently hoped that he could catch a cab back to his state before they made the trip down there. He would already be forced to wake up every morning and see a changed skyline—he had no desire to see the fallen towers themselves.

Once outside the station, they caught a cab. "What time is it?" New York asked as they climbed in the car. Usually when he was in his city he could feel the millions of people moving around for work or school or leisure at certain times of the day, but now that feeling seemed strangely absent.

"A little after six twenty in the morning." Massachusetts answered. He nodded, still confused by the empty feeling he had. It was a bit early, but usually people would already be bustling around the streets.

"It wasn't only the twin towers that were damaged, you know," New York turned towards America's voice, "Many of the smaller World Trade Center buildings were destroyed, and from what I've heard several other large buildings around them are also very damaged."

He didn't continue, but New York got the message. With no building to do business in, there was no reason for the workers to go anywhere. In the back of New York's mind, something whispered _'Or maybe they're all dead'_, but he managed to push that thought away. He would deal with those emotions later.

America gave the address of his apartment to the driver and the car lurched into motion. Their ride was spent in relative silence, with only New Jersey confirming that he would stay with them until they got to America's apartment, and then leave to catch another cab back to his own state. After arriving at the apartment building and paying the driver, the four took an elevator up to America's floor.

"Ahh… good to be home. Somewhat, anyway. Anybody want coffee?" America tossed his bag aside as soon as he stepped in the door, heading toward his kitchen.

"Please." New York needed to feel the comfort of a warm mug in his hands, and besides that he was sure that he wouldn't be able to hold down any kind of food.

Twenty minutes and a pot of coffee later, New Jersey stood from his seat on the couch and took his leave. They all exchanged hugs, and America fished out a styrofoam cup from his pantry so the state could take his coffee with him.

"See you later." New Jersey said as he wrapped his arms around his brother. They rarely touched, especially in such an affectionate way, but New York thought nothing of it, this time.

"Yeah." he nodded, releasing the other state, and soon heard the sound of a door opening and closing.

America offered New York breakfast, but he declined, acting like he wasn't hungry; he didn't want to worry his father any more than he already had. While eggs and bacon sizzled in the kitchen, the blind state finished off his cup of coffee and lay down on the couch. He wasn't really aiming to fall asleep, but soon his eyes had slipped shut and he was hovering between waking and sleeping. He realized, sadly, that he had done little else in the past week other than sleeping.

* * *

New York did end up taking a short nap, but was awoken half an hour later by a news station playing on the TV nearby. An hour later they were leaving the apartment, several more bags in America's hands and Massachusetts leading New York. By 9:15 they had boarded another train and were off to Albany. New York would always love his big city, but within half an hour he was grateful to be away from it. The nauseousness had faded and he felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

Lunch was served after a few hours, but the train staff allowed the three to order from their compartment rather than go to the dining car after America explained that his son was blind. The nation got a few strange looks because New York appeared to be only a few years younger than him, but they were served nonetheless.

America chuckled when he saw one of the items on the menu. "New York style pizza? Now I could go for some of that." he handed the menu back to the stewardess, "What do you say, guys? A whole pie for ourselves?" At the sound of his father's enthusiastic voice, New York allowed his lips to turn up the slightest bit and agreed with the choice. Massachusetts, unbeknownst to the other state, smiled simply because of his smile, and then nodded to her father.

The rest of their ride up to Albany was spent sharing huge slices of pizza and any conversation that would keep New York talking instead of thinking about other matters. As the sun peaked in the sky, they left the train and hailed another cab, this time set out to a large home hidden away in the hills outside Albany.

* * *

Their homecoming, America found, was much less glorious than he had imagined it to be. He had called ahead a few days before for a maid to come up and clean the house, so at the very least it wasn't dusty, but other than that the house seemed quite unwelcoming to Massachusetts and himself.

New York, however, immediately felt at home. Rather than take wary, soft steps on the dark oak floors, he released Massachusetts' arm and walked right in. He took a deep breath, like he was taking in everything around him.

"I haven't been here in a months, and it still surprises me every time how well I know this place." He took a few more steps, moving into the sitting room, and Massachusetts and America glanced at each other, their eyebrows raised. New York had indeed made a very good choice on where to stay. They followed him into the home, finding him lying on one of the couches in the sitting room, bag set aside and face pressed into a throw pillow.

"Um...Mikey?" Massachusetts questioned, voice just barely above a whisper. The other state looked so comfortable, so at home on the sofa.

"Huh?" he lifted his head, looking to the side although they were behind him, "Oh, sorry. I've just...really missed this place. It feels good to be home."

Silence reigned over the room for a few moments, all of them basking in the comforting feeling. "Well," America broke the silence, stepping forward, "Why don't you go shower, Mike? Mandy can help you. I'm going to call Matt and see what's going on." Both of the states instantly reddened at their father's suggestion.

"I-I don't need help! It's just a shower, I'll be fine if you just tell me where the soap and towels are." he hastily stood, trying to make his way around the couch and towards the stairs, but managed to catch his foot on the leg of a table. He only stumbled a bit, but his cheeks turned only darker.

"Mike, It's not that I don't trust you—it's that I worry about you. What if you slip and fall? I don't want another trip to the hospital, and I especially don't want you injured again. It's not like I'm asking you two to be naked together, anyway," both of the states sputtered and turned their heads away at the mere thought of such a thing, "Just throw on some boxers or something. And Mandy, put on some shorts and a tank top." America's word was final, and he left the room afterwards, not even listening to any protests the two might have had.

After a minute or so of awkward silence, Massachusetts sighed. "Let's just get this over with, shall we?" she walked over to New York's side, nudging his ribs with her elbow. He didn't answer, but linked his arm with hers and let her lead him upstairs to his master bedroom.

They did as America suggested, though Massachusetts had only put on a bikini top and soffes. New York undressed in the bathroom, and when Massachusetts set her eyes on him—in only a pair of black boxers—she nearly backed out of the ordeal. Her face would be as red as New Jersey's hair the whole time, she knew. New York set about methodically unwrapping the bandages around his arms—it had become almost a habit, now—and then discarded them onto where he knew the counter to be.

Exchanging no words, New York walked over to his shower and swept the curtain aside, stepping in and feeling around on the wall for the faucet. Massachusetts raised a brow at his movements—it was almost as if he could see exactly what he was doing. He really hadn't been kidding when he said he knew this house the best. The hiss of the shower soon broke through the air, causing her to jump back from the warm spray. New York, though, relaxed under it, sighing at the comforting heat. Feeling awkward just standing outside the shower, Massachusetts stepped in and leaned against the tile—the shower could comfortably fit both of them, she found, and maybe even a third person. They didn't speak for the first few minutes, but then the blinded state set to actually washing himself.

"Where's the soap?" he asked, grabbing a washcloth off a small bar—again, he knew it was there. Massachusetts glanced around and spotted a bottle, some kind of body wash, and grabbed it.

"Here," she pressed it into his outstretched hand and he thanked her, uncapping the container and squeezing some out onto the cloth.

The girl began to doubt that her presence was really needed, after all. Maybe she could just sit outside the shower and give him privacy. Would he want that? She was't sure.

Watching her rival-not-crush wash himself, though, was interesting, to say the least. While they did tend to argue and scream at each other often, there was no denying that New York was quite easy on the eyes. With his boxers soaked and now sticking to his skin New York turned around, worried by what might or might not have been visible to the girl. That plan backfired, though, because Massachusetts now had the chance to get a nice look at his ass. Realizing that his efforts were pointless, New York gave in and set about washing away the grimy feeling of being on a train for some eighteen hours. He could ignore the other state easily enough; at least she wasn't talking.

With the suds washing off of his body, New York turned back around and hung the washcloth back over the bar to his left. All he had to do was wash his hair, now, and he could get out of here. If he remembered correctly, his shampoo was on the top shelf that was in front of him and to his left, right next to where Massachusetts seemed to be leaning. The shelves went pretty high—a bit higher than Massachusetts' head, probably—so he reached up to feel around for the bottle. Once he brought his arm to a high angle, though, a wave of pain surged through him.

He gasped sharply through gritted teeth, scrunching his eyes shut and immediately retracting his arm. He heard the other state step closer, but felt no touch from her.

"Are you...are you okay?" came a feminine voice. He tried to relax, as being so tense might endanger the stitches running up his arms.

"Yeah, it's just...I can't reach the shampoo..." he turned his head away, embarrassed. How degrading, not even being able to wash himself.

"Well...it's alright. I'll help you—I'll wash your hair." He heard her reach up and retrieve the bottle, but only stood still. Was she really serious? "Come on, then," she insisted, "Just...sit down. I can kinda sit on the edge here, and you can sit in front of me while I wash your hair." He still didn't move for a moment, but then put a hand along the tile wall and slowly lowered himself, turning around and scooting closer to the other state.

With New York right in front of her, Massachusetts took a deep breath. They had both been so physically close in the past few days that it had become a bit overwhelming. Before the attacks, they hadn't acted so kind to each other since the Vietnam War. Shaking off her embarrassment, the state popped open the bottle and poured out some of the liquid—clear, but fresh smelling—before placing a hand in New York's sopping brown hair. His hair was relatively short, so the soap foamed and spread quickly. Between threading her fingers through the dark strands and working the soap all the way to the nape of his neck, Massachusetts fell into a pattern—massaging his scalp every few strokes just to feel him tense and relax under her touch. She made sure to avoid the little flyway on his left, though, which was still somewhat standing out despite its soaked state. She didn't know what was up with it, but New York hated for anyone to touch it.

Soon enough the shampoo had spread completely around the state's head and he was beginning to look a bit comical with all the bubbles and suds. With a light pat on his shoulder, Massachusetts signaled that she was done and assisted New York in standing. The thought of washing his hair—such an affectionate and personal act—was something she would remember for a long time to come, but Massachusetts knew that she couldn't stand to look at him sitting between her legs any longer. Baby steps, she thought, not leaps.

Within a minute New York's hair was free of soap, so Massachusetts informed him that she would go find some towels and hastily dismissed herself from the shower, not even waiting for his nod. A closet nearby was stocked full of them, so she grabbed two and thrust one through the shower curtain when she heard the water shut off.

The master bathroom was, obviously, attached to the master bedroom, which was New York's, so Massachusetts only had to make sure he had something to change into before she bolted to her guest bedroom next door to change out of her soaked clothing.

She couldn't wait to tell Virginia about this.

* * *

Between noon and dinner time, America and Canada had had a long talk and, yes, nearly all of NATO was planning to go to war with, not another nation, but an idea—a 'War on Terror', they were calling it. In all of their four-hundred odd years, neither of the brothers could ever say they had heard of such a thing before.

During the Cold War, a nation had been either on one side or the other, no exceptions. This time, though, American, Canadian, or European troops could be combing the rocky terrain of the Middle East—Iraq or Afghanistan—hunting out a small group of people instead of anyone who called themselves an Iraqi or Afghani.

Then again, America had recently been bombarded with thoughts of revenge and payback. The whole nation—the whole western world—was on high alert from the attacks, and the people of the United States in particular seemed to be willing to do anything to root out the planners behind the attacks. America couldn't deny that he felt that way often, but he tried to restrict his thoughts of such things around his states.

But here he went again, all in a big circle. Thinking of his states reminded him of how terribly they had all been hurt, and if he thought about that too much, he would only spiral into a '_kill the bastards_' mentality.

Not that that was a bad thing, sometimes.

A knock from the front door, thankfully, broke into his thoughts. He set down the knife he had been holding—to chop carrots, for dinner—and made his way over to the door.

"Hey Sean," he said with a smile as he opened the door, stepping aside to let his son in, "Your train ride okay?"

New Jersey, a backpack slung over his shoulder and a suitcase at his side, nodded and set his bags aside. "Nothing interesting. How's Michael?" His tone held no urgency, but America knew otherwise.

"Mandy helped him take a shower a little while ago, and ever since they were done they've just been upstairs talking. I think Mike is trying to explain to Mandy how to wrap the bandages around his arms." New Jersey smirked at that. For a girl, Massachusetts had never been any good at nursing. Pennsylvania and Virginia had tried to teach her during the Revolution, but after she nearly cut off Georgia's finger she resigned to chopping off all of her hair and joining the boys on the battlefield.

"I'll go make sure she hasn't strangled him yet." He joked, lifting his bags again and heading towards the stairs.

"Kay, just take any of the guest rooms upstairs. Dinner will be ready soon." America called, making his way back towards the kitchen. He had settled on preparing a simple stew, mainly because New York had little in the way of food in his refrigerator. It was also a good, hearty meal; not something that might upset New York's stomach should he have—heaven forbid—another panic attack. The nation returned to his carrots with a sigh.

If this was all he could think about—war and his son's health—he didn't know how he would survive the next few months.

* * *

Eating while blind, as America predicted, was a very difficult task. He had set out a bowl and soup spoon for New York after he called the states down, hoping that the stew was simple enough to eat. His hopes proved false, though, when the blind state only managed to scoop up the broth, and also spilled some of the liquid and—when he tried reaching for his drink—sent a glass flying off the table.

The atmosphere was tense, to say the least.

Massachusetts and New Jersey excused themselves after a sharp look from their father, and New York remained at the table—staring blankly forward—while America cleaned up the glass shards and water from the floor.

"It's alright to be upset, you know. Or angry, or sad...or whatever you're feeling." the nation said in a calm tone, kneeling on the floor.

New York took a minute to answer. "I'm just...frustrated." America didn't believe a word of that.

"That, too." He finished his cleaning in silence, his son stirring the spoon around in the bowl and gingerly sipping at the broth from time to time. Glass thrown away and water soaked up, America finally stood. "Want me to take you upstairs?"

The state nodded. "Yeah, I'm pretty tired, still."

America guided him through the house and upstairs with a hand on the small of his back. "You sleep as much as you want, alright? And don't feel so bad—I'll probably be knocked out till noon tomorrow, I'm so exhausted." He guided the state's hand up to the doorknob.

"I know, dad," he muttered, looking up at him. Though he couldn't see, he still had an image to keep up. And New York—Michael Jones—did not slouch or stare at the ground. America smiled fondly, pressing a kiss his son's temple.

"Goodnight, Mike. Just yell if you need something, okay?" The state nodded, pushing the door to his bedroom open.

"Goodnight, dad." With that, the door slowly clicked shut, and America headed back towards the kitchen to take care of the dishes. Tonight he would wash them, but he knew he should really get one of his states to do it some other time. He didn't mind all that much, though; it had been some time since he had played the part of mother hen.

After washing, drying, and putting the dishes away, the nation was surprised to find it still quite early in the night—just barely past eight. He made his way through the sitting room to find New Jersey and Massachusetts both situated on different couches, a rerun of Saturday Night Live playing on New York's huge television. Massachusetts seemed to be furiously texting, while New Jersey's gaze flipped back and forth from his phone to the TV screen, a light smile playing on his lips. The nation passed them by, though, and headed for the stairs.

"I'm going to bed, guys—I'm just so exhausted. Mike's already asleep, I think, but listen for him if he gets up, kay?" The two nodded, bidding their father goodnight as he climbed the stairs, one hand gripping the banister tight—his whole body still ached, sometimes.

The nation's socked feet padded silently across the wood flooring upstairs and, as he made his way to his bedroom, he thought that checking on New York would be a good idea. Sliding in close to the wall, he pressed his ear to the door, expecting to hear the silence of his son sleeping.

"What?" he found himself murmuring as he listened. It was a strange noise, kind of like heavy breathing, but New York couldn't be...?

"Mike?" He cracked open the door a bit, just enough to get a peek in. He received no answer, though, "Mikey?" Impatient and worried, the nation pushed the door open fully and glanced around the room, his eyes softening when they landed on New York.

America found his son curled up on his large bed, glasses discarded nearby and hands trying to cover his face. The sharp breaths and erratic movements of the state's body were a dead giveaway—New York was crying. Sobbing his heart out might have been a better description, but nonetheless America crossed the room in a few quick strides and sat down on the edge of the bed, gently placing a hand on his son's shoulder. The state jumped at the contact, his blind, but still perfectly blue eyes snapping in up America's direction.

The nation didn't say anything, for a moment. What was there to say? Any of the typical questions—Are you okay? What's wrong?—were easy to answer. No, New York was not okay and the fact that two of his most iconic buildings had come crashing to the ground along with several thousand innocent lives was what was wrong.

So, instead of drawing the boy into a long conversation of all his woes and horrors, America simply began to stroke his back, turning to face New York on the bed and then lying down next to him. With tears still pouring out of his eyes, New York furrowed his eyebrows, sending a silent question to his father.

"I was trying to think of something to say to comfort you and to make you stop crying, but I just realized there's no reason to do that. So you know what, Mike? You go on and cry. Cry as much as you need—you have to get it out sometime, no matter how much it hurts." New York said nothing in reply, only keeping his gaze locked in America's direction, and after a few moments the nation shifted closer to his son, wrapping his arms around the state's shaking body and pulling him in to his chest.

They remained that way for America didn't even know how long, and eventually he slipped his glasses off his face and placed them next to New York's on the bed.

The next morning, the two woke in the same position, arms and legs entangled on top of the bedspread. America gently nudged New York awake and they unwound from each other, stretching out their sore before heading down for breakfast.

To both America and New York's surprise, New Jersey volunteered to move his bed into his brother's room that morning after breakfast.

"You shouldn't have to wake up blind with no one to guide you. That's just not right." he had said, and when New York remarked that it would be nice, America shrugged and agreed—they would move it right after breakfast.

The first night that they slept in the same room New York felt better for it, not having to wake up and stumble out of bed blindly—no pun intended.

On the second night, the nightmares begun.

New York would wake with tears streaming down his cheeks and end up curled into a fetal position, his brother trying and failing to give him comfort. Sometimes he screamed at New Jersey, saying he wouldn't understand, but the other state remained nonetheless, listening to New York's broken descriptions of his dreams.

First, he was trapped in a smoky stairwell with a hundred other people, pushing and shoving his own citizens out of the way in a desperate attempt to get down. Then the walls would start shaking, and the last thing New York could remember was a noise that sounded like a freight train coming right for him, and then nothing.

The second night, he was in a calm office floor on a bright Tuesday morning, talking to a kind woman about some kind of business. Right before he looked up to see her face, he turned around to see the nose of a jet plane out the window. This nightmare really shook him, he later told his brother, because after seeing the plane there was no sight, just darkness with the sounds of breaking glass, screaming, and the feeling of fire burning the skin off of his arms and face.

The third night was by far the worst, because the New York in the dream somehow knew what had happened, knew what was coming, and could do nothing about it. Also, it begun with him hanging out the window of the hundredth story of a tower, fire roaring below him. He had no control over himself— forced to be but an observer in his own body. Just when he was thinking how beautiful the sky looked he was falling, and then he turned toward the ground just in time to see the mangled bodies of the humans he had followed. New York would swear up and down for the rest of his days that, at the last second, he could see the faces of some of those people, forever frozen in time as they flew for the last moments of their lives.

Each morning, it would take New York a few good hours to come down from the stress and anxiety of his nightmares. Each night, though, he wondered what he would dream of next and contemplated whether he preferred having nightmares or being blind, because, in the former, at least he could see.

* * *

America hung up his phone, sighing and letting his hand fall to the table. England, as he had predicted, could not recall any other nation going blind, or any similar condition. The other nation had offered to try some spells on New York, but to that America politely declined.

"Who was that?" came a voice from the living room, and America looked up to find New York padding into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes. He had slept late today—it was nearly ten in the morning.

"England. He...has never heard of a nation going blind before this. Sorry." Better to break the news to him now rather than lead him on.

The state stopped, looking towards America's voice for a second. "Oh..." he murmured softly, moving to his left a bit and feeling around for a chair before sitting down, "So what now?"

America stood, walking over to the counter and flicking the coffee pot on. "Well, I called around to all of our doctors last night. I have them checking all the files they have to see if anything similar has happened, and Matt's doing the same. None of us have been around for centuries like the Europeans, but it's worth a shot. I guess I could call China, too..." He grabbed a pen, scribbling a few words down onto a pad of paper. He had so much to do these days, and he tended to forget things on occasion. Between caring for his three states, dealing with his boss, and his recently developed headaches, he guessed the stress was just starting to get to him.

New York didn't respond, only putting his arms up on the table and then hiding his face in them. Retrieving a carton of eggs out of the fridge, America shook the carton towards the state. "You want breakfast?"

Only a groan met his question, and the nation responded with "I know, I know..." before rummaging through a cupboard to find a frying pan. He continued about preparing the eggs in silence, pouring himself and his son a cup of coffee when the drink was ready. When New York heard the 'clink' of a mug being set in front of him he still didn't lift his head, but America heard a garbled question come from the lump of his arms and head.

"I can't hear you like that." New York picked his head up, embarrassed, as if he had forgotten that his face had been in his arms.

"I said, Mandy left last night, right?" He took hold of the mug, pressing it to his lips before taking a sip.

"Oh, yeah. You fell asleep pretty early, and she left around ten. She'll be back in a few days, I think," America said, his back to the state, "I thought you knew that?"

"I did," he heard New York answer, "Just making sure."

* * *

Later that afternoon New York sat on one of the couches in his sitting room, listening to a news broadcast. The attacks were still all over the news, of course, but now they were interspersed with the American government's response to the attack, along with all the measures for war that had been taken. Since the state was listening to a local newscast, though, they were focusing more on the cleanup and reaction in New York City. The state was just barely listening, however. The whole day he had felt absolutely exhausted, and with the drone of the reporter's voice in the background, it was quite easy to nod off on the couch.

"Mike?"

The voice roused him, and he let out an undignified 'huh?' before straightening up on the sofa. It sounded like his father was coming down the stairs.

"Why're you watching this, Mike? Doesn't it depress you?" He listened to the voice move around him, finally settling on his right. New York tilted his head to the side. He had never thought of it that way. He just wanted to stay updated while he couldn't be in his city.

"It makes me sad, but I just want to know what's going on." America only hummed in response, and the state listened to his footsteps cross the living room and then heard the thump of the nation sitting on the couch next to him.

"Well, lemme' tell you, Mike, it's not anything pretty to look at. Some of these videos and pictures they've been showing the past few days...no one should have to look at those all the time..." he trailed off, sounding sad. Silence passed in between them for a few moments, New York just listening to what the reporters had to say while America watched. New York yawned.

"Now how are you tired? You sleep so much at night." He could almost hear his father smiling and shaking his head. The state shrugged at his question.

"That's just how I've felt. I don't think it's because to the nightmares—because I don't lose any sleep over them—but I've been like this for days," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. It was strange to have someone to talk to so often—someone who cared about his every move. A sudden dull pain creeped through his skull and he groaned. "I think I'm getting a headache." He slipped his glasses off, rubbing at his eyes.

America said nothing for a few moments, but he felt almost hesitant to New York. "That's weird," his voice had a guarded tone to it—there was something he wasn't saying, "Well, I mean if you're really that tired then just go lay down or something. Maybe you shouldn't drink too much coffee, either. That never helps." New York wanted to argue that he really didn't drink that much, only a cup or two in the morning, but was too tired to do so.

"I guess..." He heard America stand beside him, and then felt a hand on his back.

"Call for me if you need anything, okay?" The state nodded, and hauled his legs and feet up onto the space which America had vacated. Maybe lying down wouldn't be such a bad idea.

Two hours later New York's head wasn't getting any better, but getting worse. He had remained splayed out on the sofa, convinced the pain would go away if he relaxed, but the ache only steadily increased. Somewhere in the back of his mind New York could hear footsteps passing by every so often, but he never made a move to grab anyone's attention.

By five in the afternoon, the pain transformed from a dull ache to a stabbing throb. The state twitched and winced every time a particularly strong wave swept over his mind, but the levels of pain didn't really matter to him. It hurt, a lot, and besides the hammering pain that was assaulting his head, sensations of nausea had begun to ebb and flow in his stomach.

Another set of footsteps in the background, but this time they drew close and then moved away very quickly. Who was that? They weren't leaving New York, were they? He wanted to cry out for help, but when he tried to form words only a few garbled moans of pain came out. The state shut his eyes tight, curling in on himself. It was starting to become unbearable—

A noise broke through the haze of his mind, but he couldn't identify it. It sounded deep, and as if he was underwater. He only curled up tighter, thinking the sound to be a figment of his imagination, but then a hand was placed on his side. It just sat there, rubbing back and forth a bit, and so did he. The noise was closer, now, and suddenly a second hand joined the first, pushing him onto his back and forcing him to uncurl. The deep rumble of the noise came back, and slowly turned audible.

"...lease? C'mon, Mike, open your eyes for me..." It was a voice, so he listened to it. Opening his eyes changed nothing, though. Still no sight, still no color. A hand was on his cheek and the voice was thanking him. He tried to relax, let some of the tension run out of his body, but then another wave of pain stabbed through his head.

"Guh! Uhh...hurts so bad!" He moaned and gasped, bringing his hands up to his eyes and starting the whole cycle over again. The nausea was back, too. He hoped he didn't throw up on this person near him, whoever it was, but if he had to he decided he wouldn't hesitate.

The voice above him had fallen silent, but he didn't care. He felt completely isolated now—no touch or sound, just pain. After a few more moments in his own little world, something moved under his shoulders and legs. He gasped, but just barely, and felt the thing lift him off the couch and start moving somewhere. Someone was carrying him, that much he could tell, but the thought only flitted through his mind for half a second before more pain replaced it.

He wasn't sure how far the person carried him, but eventually he was placed down on a soft surface—much softer than where he had been, wherever that was. His glasses were lifted off his face and then a hand was in his hair, giving slow, light strokes.

Before he knew it, New York was fast asleep.

* * *

A migraine, they told him, from his head injury. Both New Jersey and America had passed by New York while it was taking effect, but it was the state's brother that finally realized something was wrong. New Jersey had shaken his shoulder, to which he didn't respond, and then left to find America. The nation managed to get New York to open his eyes, but when he did they found his pupils to be oddly dilated and his eyes wide with an invisible pain. The nausea only confirmed the episode when America later called New York's doctor.

"There's really nothing that can be done," the man said, "When he starts to feel them come on, help move him to a dark, quiet place and just keep him comfortable." America thanked the man and hung up. The whole situation only grew more hopeless by the day.

New York said nothing in regards to his now multiple problems, but it didn't worry his father or brother. He would talk about it when he felt like talking about it, and with whoever he felt like talking to, they knew.

Apparently, this time Massachusetts was that person. When she returned a few days later she immediately went to New York—in the sitting room, again—and plopped down next to him, hugging him to her chest for all she was worth. They talked for hours, mainly with New York speaking about his migraine incident. He didn't say it outright, but Massachusetts understood that he felt like he would never return to his prime.

With New York still not feeling ready to return to his normal life, New Jersey had taken to visiting his brother's capitol building every few days for an update from the governor. He had left that morning, right after Massachusetts returned, and was now ready to sit down with his brother and talk politics. He opened the front door, not bothering to call out that he was home, and walked into the living room. Just as he was about to speak, though, he stopped himself.

New York was sitting on one of the couches, his back to New Jersey, while Massachusetts sat practically in his lap, but facing sideways. Both of their heads were touching and turned down, almost as if they were nuzzling each other. They both had one arm around each other's backs, but New Jersey couldn't see how their other arms were positioned. He toed off his shoes quietly by the door and made his way toward the staircase and then upstairs, thankfully without disturbing them.

Everyone had their own ways of mourning and reconnecting, he supposed.

* * *

The weeks flew by, New York learning to cope with his blindness more and more every day, and before they knew it, it was nearly November.

October 27th was turning out to be a boring and unusually hot Saturday, much to New York's chagrin. The heat irritated his stitches, so he would blast the air conditioning, but then get yelled at by America for not being eco-friendly and because "eighty-two degrees is a perfectly fine temperature". Yeah, if you lived in Florida.

With nothing to distract him, the state sat in over-exaggerated agony on the couch, dressed in only shorts and a t-shirt and keeping the fan above him at full blast.

While America was, on days like these, the bane of his existence, the nation could just as easily turn around and become his savior. And today was one of those days.

"Hey, Mike! I've got something for ya'!" came the excited voice of his father, along with the slam of the front door opening and closing. New York didn't move, quite comfortable in his spread-eagle position on the couch. He found that he didn't feel too hot that way.

"What?" he droned. Upstairs, New Jersey and Massachusetts emerged from their respective rooms, curious of the commotion.

"Well, it took me so long to find one. I'm surprised you didn't have one here! But anyway, I called Izzy a few days ago and she said she had one so she mailed it here," America swept aside some of the random objects on the coffee table and New York heard a dull 'thump', "just for you! Man, you're gonna love it."

"Dad, I'm blind, I don't know what you're talking about." New York sat up, placing his feet back on the ground. He didn't think the nation had forgotten, but he wouldn't exactly put it past him…

"I know, I know. I was just trying to build the suspense, gosh." New Jersey and Massachusetts padded down the stairs, coming up beside the couch.

"What're you going to do with that, dad?" Massachusetts asked, and America held up a finger.

New York rolled his eyes, hearing the flick of a switch and then some static noise along with random bits of music before one clear noise finally rung through the house.

"_And welcome to the 2001 World Series, everybody. Phoenix, Arizona, Bank One Ballpark. Security is high, but so it the level of excitement…_"

And _finally_, more than a month after the attacks, New York truly, _genuinely_ smiled and laughed for the first time. And none of them wanted it any other way.

* * *

Oh momma!America, you're such a good daddy.

-DC was referencing the War of 1812, when the capitol was nearly burnt to the ground by the British and Canadians.  
-Article 5 of the NATO charter states that "an attack on any member shall be considered to be an attack on all". It led to Canada and many other countries in NATO helping the US in the wars that followed 9/11. The Article was officially invoked on October 4th, 2001.  
-'Soffe' is a clothing brand which is commonly known for its shorts, hence the same 'soffes'. Bascially, they are the classic 'short-shorts' that girls wear all the time.  
-I thought some NY/MA hints were definitely in order. In all of my fics MA seems to get the short end of the stick, so to speak, but it's not because I hate her or anything. It just kinda ends up that way all the time XD  
-If I didn't say this earlier, this story is pretty much pairing free(except for the established VA/MD earlier). There will be a few hints at pairings, but nothing more.  
-(NY really needs a middle initial, just so he can sound like a BAMF when I type out his full name.)  
-NJ was watching a rerun of the first SNL to air after 9/11 (which aired on 9/29). They inited Mayor Michael Bloomberg to the show along with a bunch of NYC firemen, policemen, and their families. Many of the SNL cast members described it as a very moving episode, and it's really just cool to watch because at the beginning the cast asks the Mayor if they are allowed to be funny again (the weeks after 9/11 were pretty dark, as you can imagine). It was kind of a big sigh of relief-a 'its okay to go back to normal life' moment.  
-The migraines are the result of the whole head injury thing.  
-The 2001 World Series began on October 27th, 2001, in Pheonix, Arizona, with the Arizona Diamondbacks vs the New York Yankees. The Yankees ended up losing, but that didn't make the Series any less patriotic and awesome.

Sorry for this being so obnoxiously long. And for the delay between chapters XD I got swamped with school and other stuff, and it's probably going to stay that way for a while. I only get a few free days to write, but when I get them I write as much as I can (this chapter, for example, was all written over the past 4 days, haha).  
There are 2 more sections to Part 3 (I think). And they will hopefully be a little shorter than this x_x


	5. Part 3b

**November**

The New York Yankees, sadly, did not win the World Series. They did win three of the seven games, though, and after celebrating the wins America discovered that a tipsy and blind New York was not a good combination.

The bruises faded after a few days.

With the Series behind them and New York's spirits lifted, they all settled back into a somewhat normal routine. On November 6th, though, they were surprised by a phone call from New York's doctor.

"He said you can have your stitches out!" America exclaimed, hanging up the phone, "He wants to see you tomorrow." So, the next day found America leading New York into his own black Mustang to drive into Albany and see the doctor, leaving New Jersey and Massachusetts alone at the house.

When the two arrived back home, they were surprised to be greeted not by one of the states, but Quebec.

"_Bonjour_, Michael. It's good to see you again," a cool voice said when America opened the door. New York heard Quebec take a step closer to him, then felt a nudge on each of his cheeks. He blushed. For the province, cheek kissing was a common greeting, but not for the state, so accustomed to clipped hellos and stiff handshakes. Quebec had deemed him close enough a friend to greet by kissing, though, so he guessed he should take it as a complement, "And you, too, Alfred. I hope you two have been…feeling better." Seeing that Quebec had taken New York's hand, America released the state and stepped around him. Quebec followed, tugging New York along.

"We've been getting better, thank you. The worst days are behind us, at least," America said, moving into the living room to try and find one of his states. He didn't mind the province being over, but wondered which of the other two in the house had actually let him in. Quebec nodded at America's answer, but then turned back to New York and began questioning him in much more detail. The state's cheeks were still ever so slightly pink, much to the province's delight.

America smirked at Quebec's antics. It didn't take a genius to see that he obviously cared for New York more than any of the other states, but New York wasn't exactly adept in the field of love. He turned, then, peeking over the couch the find New Jersey slouched deep into the cushions—so much that his head couldn't be see over the back of the sofa.

"You let him in?" The nation chuckled.

"Sadly," the state droned, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "I tried to ignore him for a while, but he just wouldn't leave. He's been here since like five minutes after you guys left." America hummed, watching in amusement first at New Jersey as he wiggled his way into facedown position on the sofa, and then at New York and Quebec, as the province was now thoroughly inspecting the scars left behind by the stitches. New York willingly held his arm up for Quebec, but didn't look too amused at the whole situation.

Glancing sideways at America briefly, Quebec turned back to the state in front of him. "Hey, I want to talk," he muttered, keeping his voice low.

New York raised an eyebrow at that. "About what?"

"About you."

The province's serious tone took the state by surprise, but he went along with it. "Okay, well then, uh…" he pulled his arm out of Quebec's grasp and took a step toward where he thought America had gone, "Hey dad, we're going to go up to my room, okay? Just to…talk for a while."

There was a pause before the nation answered him. "Sure…I'll go make some lunch, okay? Come down if you want some." He sounded almost hesitant, but New York didn't have time to think about it before Quebec was tugging him up the stairs. The sudden change in direction threw him off balance and he stumbled up the first few steps before catching his footing.

"Y-yeah, maybe we'll come down in a bit." If his father responded he didn't have the chance to hear it, because before he knew it he was being pushed into what he assumed to be his own room and heard the door closed behind him. Now alone, Quebec hesitated a moment before New York took it upon himself to walk over to his own bed.

"So, what's the matter? What did you want to talk about, Jean?" he reached out a hand and came in contact with his bed right when he had been expecting to. He really was getting better at navigating the house.

Another second of silence stretched between them before New York heard footsteps and then the creak of a mattress. "Is this Sean's bed?" Quebec asked. New York nodded, sitting on the edge of his own mattress. "Then why is it in here?" the province's tone changed rapidly from casual to noticeably concerned.

"The nightmares," New York didn't hesitate in answering; he knew Quebec would get it out of him one way or another. It felt strange, though, talking to anyone about his situation. Two weeks wasn't that long in the grand scheme of things, but he felt like he had been alienated from everyone he knew. Quebec was his friend—he should feel comfortable talking with him—but for some reason a level of awkwardness persisted, "I get nightmares sometimes, about the attacks, and we all agreed it would be better to have someone in here at night. And he helps me when I get up in the morning, too, so I don't need to try and go downstairs by myself."

Quebec hummed, looking over to the state. It was strange, imagining that those eyes, though wide open, could see nothing but darkness.

"So, how are you feeling, Michael?"

New York didn't take long to answer the question—it was one he had been asked so many times over the past weeks that the answer was almost automatic. "It's difficult to think that those buildings…my buildings are just, you know, gone. And being blind has been very frustrating for me, but with my family I think I'm beginning to manage." New York heard Quebec chuckle, and the province shook his head.

"No," New York furrowed his brows at the words, almost offended. Footsteps moved towards him, and he felt the bed sink to his left, "I want to know how _you_ feel. Not the state of New York, _you_, Michael Jones." He placed a hand comfortingly on his back, and it took New York a moment to answer.

How was he feeling? He hadn't really thought about it much, with so much still going on. He worried so constantly for his citizens that he had nearly forgotten to think about himself.

"Well, uh…" What was the right way to say it? He was feeling…better? Well he was, compared to when he had first come home, but every other week or so a massive migraine would ruin that. His arms were, for the most part, stitched up and healed, but did that really mean he was feeling okay?

"No…" was all the state could manage after a few moments, and Quebec cocked his head, but stayed silent. After a second, New York realized that he had thought aloud. "I, uh, I'm a bit better, I guess? But…"

"But?"

His brows scrunched tightly together. "But it still hurts."

Quebec only hummed in response. It was a step in the right direction. "How so?" he asked, after letting silence pass between them for a few moments.

"Well, my arms…just because they're healed now doesn't mean everything is better, right? I'm starting to realize now…that's how I felt. Or that's how I thought I should feel. But that's not how it is!" The state raised his voice suddenly, whipping his head in Quebec's direction, startling the province.

New York's eyes, as always, were the first thing he noticed. They were full of emotion this time—something usually so uncommon for him—and still blue, but looking completely distraught; the pure emotion was enough to just about break Quebec's heart. The thought that he couldn't see anything out of those eyes only hurt him more.

"I'm still so sad…" the blue eyes disappeared, buried in the states' hands, "It still hurts so much, but it's to the point where I don't even know how to deal with it, or how to come to grips with it." It took a good minute for Quebec to realize that New York had stopped talking and still had his face in his hands. The province's own hand still rested on the state's bent back. He began to rub small, soothing circles there, and slowly New York came back to life.

"I guess I can never really understand what you're feeling," Quebec begun, and it was true. Nova Scotia had had a disaster like this—the Halifax Explosion—and he had felt it, but that was of a different magnitude than this, "so I can't offer much advice. The only thing I can think to say is…" he hesitated for a moment, and New York lifted his head, letting his hands fall to his lap, "it gets better. When Joel had that ship blow up in his port," the province shook his head, "he was devastated. Beyond comfort, way beyond it. It was very difficult, the first few months, and maybe even years, after it, but he got better. And you will, too." Quebec cupped the state's cheek, moving his head to face him, "It will just take some time."

They remained like that for a few moments, staring at each other, even though New York couldn't see the province in front of him.

When they separated, they pulled away at the same time, though no words were exchanged.

"Thanks." New York said, tilting his head towards where he knew the window to be.

Quebec thought about standing, but he couldn't think of anywhere he would go. "You're welcome."

* * *

November 12th was a calm morning. Quebec was still in the household, residing in the room directly to the right of New York and New Jersey's. He planned to stay until the 20th, providing New York with a much needed distraction. The province even managed to get the state outside for once, taking him into the city to walk around for an afternoon and to make a surprise visit to Albany's mayor. The whole family could tell that the trip, as well as the visiting Canadian, brightened the state's spirits.

Everyone slept in late that morning—they had no reason to get up early on a Monday, anyway. Maybe they would go and pay their respects to New York's fallen soldiers—it was Veteran's day, after all—but that was for later.

And all was quiet.

"Holy _shit_! What the—aaughh!" New York flew up in his bed, kicking his blanket aside and holding a hand over his left cheek, his eyes scrunched shut. His other hand frantically searched for something to grab hold of and eventually found purchase on the thick blanket, squeezing the life out of fabric as waves of pain swept over him.

The shouts startled New Jersey awake, the state jumping and snapping his eyes open before shoving the covers off and stumbling haphazardly across the room. "Mikey-Mike what's wrong?" he asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes in an effort to get a better look at his brother.

New York groaned again, his fingers gripping the blanket even tighter. "I don't know! It's my cheek—"

"Jesus! The hell did you do?" New Jersey's mouth dropped open at the sight of the other state's bloodied cheek, moving up to yank his hand away in order to see the wound completely. Blood stained New York's hand and had already began dripping down his face and onto the bed sheets. "C'mon, we need to get a towel or something," he said, tugging on his brother's wrist and looping an arm around his waist to yank him out of bed.

New York didn't respond, only groaning as he was forced onto his feet and pushed forward. He let himself be led, trying to focus his thoughts, but found that he couldn't. _Just like last time—_

"Michael? Sean?" They heard America's voice from behind them, and New Jersey turned to find the nation hastily yanking a shirt over his head. New York felt his brother slow momentarily, to look back, but he didn't bother. Even if he did have his sight, he wouldn't have seen his father from the way his eyes were scrunched closed and were those tears?

"Dad, com'ere, something's up…" Their pace picked up again, and New Jersey thrust the bathroom door open, leading New York inside and sitting him on the toilet.

"Yes, I could tell by the way your brother was screaming…" America replied, somewhat sarcastic, as he followed his two states. "Oh good lord…" his tone changed immediately upon seeing New York's bloody and burned cheek. He sighed, and for a moment the only noise in the room was New Jersey sifting through the medicine cabinet for gauze.

"I'm going to wake the other two, if they're not woken yet, and then go downstairs. Try to figure out what's going on…" he muttered, trailing off as he took a few steps over to Massachusetts' door and cracked it open, "Mandy?"

The state was already out of her bed and pulling her hair back into a pony tail. "What happened?" she asked, not even bothering to greet her father.

"Something's up in New York—Mike's cheek is all torn open. I'm going to go and try to figure out what's going on." The state nodded and America left her door open, looking back down the hallway to find Quebec peeking his head out of his guest room door.

"Michael is injured?" There was a strong note of worry in his voice. America only nodded slowly, and the province stepped out of his room, peeking into the neighboring bathroom. The nation didn't wait to see his response, heading down the stairs and snatching the remote off the coffee table when he got there. He punched the power button, and then the channel for CNN.

It took a moment for the image to sink in. It was reminiscent of two months prior, but on a smaller scale. Burned buildings, fire, confused people wandering around; it was nearly all there, but this time in a neighborhood instead of a city. America backed up a few steps, flopping down on the sofa, but keeping his eyes on the screen. Only then did he notice the burn mark developing on the underside of his chin. Some days, he just wanted it all to be over.

He heard footsteps at ten top of the staircase, and Massachusetts was coming down now. America titled his head back to look at her upside-down, and couldn't keep his eyes from being filled with hopelessness. She shot him a confused look for a second, but then her jaw dropped from the image on the screen. Walking around to his side, she continued to stare at the television for a moment loner before catching sight of the burn on her father's chin.

"Oh…Dad!" she exclaimed, taking a few quick steps closed and then leaning in to get a better look at the burn, "Let me go get something for you…" she almost immediately ran off, not leaving him time to say anything. The nation let his head loll back to look at the screen again, and winced when his burned skin twisted with the move.

Racing back upstairs, Massachusetts found that New Jersey and Quebec had managed to sufficiently bandage New York up. The injured state, though, looked to be growing more dazed by the second, leaning against the back of the toilet and staring off into nothing, unresponsive.

"Hey do we have, I don't know, some aloe or something? Dad has a burn mark on his chin from the thing…" she deliberately avoided mentioning he specific event, unsure if New York could hear her or not, and unsure if she would trigger something in him by saying it.

New Jersey shook his head. "No, and we're nearly out of gauze. Someone will have to go get some more medical supplies if these next few months are going to be like this…" he shut the medicine cabinet and handed the gauze to the other state.

"So…what happened?" Quebec asked tentatively. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know. Massachusetts hesitated for a moment, glancing between the two standing males and then at New York.

"Perhaps we should just…all go downstairs."

New Jersey and Quebec, though still unsure about the situation, nodded. New Jersey brought New York back to the present and assisted him down the stairs, the blind state gripping the railing so hard that his knuckles turned white.

America heard the four coming down the stairs, and heard Quebec's gasp and New Jersey's sigh, but he kept his eyes glued on the screen. His two sons passed in front of him, New Jersey assuring that his brother was seated on the couch before turning back to the screen and crossing his arms over his chest, just observing the scene with a blank expression. There was no explanation needed, now.

"Do you think…it was a terrorist?" Quebec asked, breaking the silence. New York suddenly snapped to attention at the word.

"What?" his voice was just above a whisper, but his head whipped around, as if he was expecting to see something.

"Mike…" America began, finally turning away from the screen, "A plane crashed in Queens. In a neighborhood. It…looks a lot like that day…" He reached over and placed his hand over his son's.

New York didn't respond, his eyes widening slightly and what sounded like a weak whimper coming from the back of his throat. The room was silent again for a second—save the voice of the reporter and the chaos in the background—before the state spoke.

"I think I need to lie down." And he did, placing his right cheek in his father's lap and letting the nation run his fingers through his hair.

They didn't stick flags in the ground next to graves that Veteran's Day. And neither did their siblings, if the phone ringing off the hook all day was any indication.

* * *

It was an accident, the authorities determined, a horrible, coincidental accident. The plane had malfunctioned shortly after takeoff and then crashed, killing everyone on board and several on the ground.

New York barely slept that night, and America wasn't far behind, only catching a few hours of restless sleep. America, though, was able to get up and wander around the house when he couldn't sleep, while New York felt confined to his bed, despite the fact that his brother was in the room. After four hours of tossing and turning in his bed—eyes open, still no sight—the state swung his feet over the edge of the bed, feeling the cool and worn wooden floor beneath his feet. He carefully moved his blanket out of the way and pushed himself up, standing, but still leaving one hand on the bed for balance.

If he was correct then he was on the right side of his bed, facing the door, and the window was back and to his left. The state turned, taking slow, tentative steps towards what he hoped was the wall. When he managed to reach the window without trouble, he pressed a hand to its cool, comforting glass and tried to imagine the scene outside. A dark, clear night sky, stars everywhere, and some phase of the moon—he wasn't sure which.

"Mike?" His brother's tired voice broke through the silence, and New York whipped his head toward the source of the noise. New Jersey pushed himself up from the sheets and looked to the window where his brother stood. Through the darkness, he could see the other state's blue eyes. "What're you doin'?"

New York didn't answer immediately, but took a few steps back toward his own bed. "Nothing," he said, placing a hand on his mattress and sliding back into bed, "just couldn't sleep."

The other state cocked his head a bit, tired from being woken up in the middle of the night, but still coherent enough to sense his brother's apprehension. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really, no." New Jersey raised an eyebrow, but accepted his brother's answer and bid him goodnight.

He didn't exactly like it, but he could respect that.

* * *

The next morning, the exhaustion was evident on their faces. America stood over the stove, poking at some eggs, when New York dragged himself in. No one else in the house had even woken, and it was a wonder he had managed to get down the stairs himself.

"Couldn't sleep?" America skipped over a greeting, but already knew the answer to his question.

"No." The state said no more, folding his arms on the kitchen table and collapsing into them. Quebec entered a few moments later, greeting the two with a friendly smile.

"Bon matin," he said, nodding to America, "would you like me to cook, Alfred?" The nation turned to look at the province, his brows knitted in confusion.

"What? No, Jean, this isn't your house, you don't have to—"

"No, please, I insist. After yesterday there is no need for you to work. Let me make you two crepes." America opened his mouth to protest again, but was soon shooed away from the counter by Quebec. The nation was left standing in the middle of the kitchen with a dumb look on his face, but soon closed his mouth and shook his head with a chuckle.

"If you insist, then," he said with a tired smirk, waving a hand in the direction of one of the cupboards "the flour's in the cabinet next to the sink." Quebec nodded, placing the frying pan full of half-done eggs aside and rooting around the kitchen for the needed ingredients. With a yawn, America made his way over to the table and slumped down in a chair across from New York. The state still hadn't lifted his head from his arms.

"You okay, Mike? How's your cheek feeling?" He stretched his legs out under the table and swung an arm over the back of his chair, not caring if he looked horribly undignified. The state muttered something incoherent, and then lifted his head.

"It's…better, I guess. Still hurts." He shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

"Hurts as in an ache or…?" he pressed the state, knowing his son would hide something of this nature at any opportunity. He also knew that, as a nation or state, there was a large difference between an injury that simply ached the day after, and an injury that throbbed.

"It…kind of burns." New York set his chin down in his arms this time, covering his mouth so that his answer was just loud enough for his father to hear. Quebec was still happily making breakfast nearby.

America paused for a moment, thinking what that could mean before only humming and nodding in response. He knew what it meant—fires were still burning at the site. That wasn't surprising, and they were probably only small fires, at least. The area had been much smaller than the area of the attacks. He didn't bother the state with any more conversation, closing his eyes and letting his head tip back while he listened to the soft sizzle of batter in a pan. Hands folded across his stomach and legs crossed, America sighed. At least this morning was calm.

Before they knew it, Quebec was calling them for breakfast. America let his eyes flutter open, blinking a few times to get them back into focus. How long had it been? As he stood to help the province with the food he glanced at the clock over the stove—just fifteen minutes. He felt as if he had slept more in that quarter of an hour than the whole restless night. Shrugging that thought off, America turned to the counter.

"Jean!" he gasped, his eyes widening at the three plates of food in front of him. They looked as if they had come straight out of a restaurant. "Wow! You didn't have to do all this." He stepped closer to the counter, inspecting the plates. On each sat three long, rolled up crepes, all a perfect golden brown. America had never seen them prepared like that before. "So what's in 'em?"

"Take a bite and you'll find out." Quebec said with a cunning smile, plucking two of the plates off the counter top and gliding over to the table. He set both down on New York's side of the table, one in the state's spot and one next to him, before poking the dozing state in the shoulder.

"What…?" New York slowly uncoiled from his sleeping position, allowing his body to fall back against the chair. Quebec couldn't resist a smile at his friend's sleepy state.

"Breakfast is ready," he said quietly, picking up one of the crepes and guiding it into New York's hand, "Crepes, but rolled up and with filling. I hope you like them." He allowed his hand to linger on top of New York's, but just slightly. He had to make sure the state didn't drop it, of course.

New York muttered a thanks while America sat down across from him and Quebec moved to sit at his other side. He raised his other hand to feel the whole crepe—a little, rolled up pancake, just as the province described —before carefully tilting it forward and biting down on the edge.

Strawberry jam—the kind with chunks of strawberry still in it—and warm, melted butter. Coupled along with the powdered sugar on top, America was in heaven.

"Mmm! Jean, these're awesome!" He proclaimed, taking another bite of the sweet food. "Matt never makes 'em like this. He usually makes just pancakes. They're, y'know, thicker and stuff…" he trailed off, too enticed by the crepe to continue. Quebec just smiled.

"I'm glad you enjoy them. You see, in Canada, crepes can be just 'street food' or 'fast food', as you would say. They're a lot more common over there. Maybe he thinks you would not like them." Quebec lifted one of his own crepes off his plate, taking a bite out of it. He had never really eaten a meal while sitting so close to America. What Canada told him was true—the southern nation talked with his mouth full the entire time.

While keeping conversation with America, Quebec made sure to keep a steady eye on New York. The state, like his father, had brightened considerably with each bite, and even licked the leftover jam off his fingers when he finished the first crepe. Their conversation wandered, but both the province and the nation made sure to keep it light. No need to address things like war at the breakfast table.

The more Quebec looked at the state, though, the more he couldn't help but notice something peeking out from the collar of his shirt. It was just under his collarbone, and looked dark, a darker pink than the skin around it, at least. It puzzled the province, but he ignored it when he could, turning his eyes back to America. After fifteen minutes of conversation and staring, though, he had had enough.

"Michael, what is this?" he tugged the collar of the state's shirt down slightly, catching him off guard. America followed Quebec's hand to the pink spot on his son's collar bone, and his eyes widened. He would know that anywhere.

"Burns? I didn't know you still had burn marks—Michael why didn't you say anything to me?" America's voice grew rapidly in concern, and New York flinched away as the nation leaned in close to him. His father almost never used his full name. Quebec released the shirt and sat back in his seat, letting the cloth fall back to cover the injury. He almost felt bad, seeing the reactions of the other two, because he had essentially invaded New York's privacy. Perhaps it had not been the best choice.

"I didn't really know either. I only find them when I'm in the shower or getting dressed—I just happen to run my hand over them every once in a while and realize it's another burn."

"So that's why you're always wearing long sleeved shirts? And why didn't you tell me? You're already hurt enough, Mike, so I want to know if anything more happens."

"I run them under cold water…"

America felt like sighing, but held back. That would sound like he was disappointed in the state, which was not at all the case. "That's…a start. Why don't we go upstairs and I can help you—"

"I'll help him." Quebec interrupted, standing from his seat. The sudden scrape of the chair on the tile startled New York, and the province immediately looked guilty. Quebec still found it hard adjusting to New York's blindness, America knew, but it was nice to see that he was trying. He also knew that Quebec was trying to get closer to New York, and he figured he would give the boy a break. Lord knew that the province's father had given America no breaks when he had been wooing the other nation.

"Sure," he replied, his gaze lingering on Quebec for just a second, "there's gauze in the bathroom upstairs."

Quebec nodded and, placing a hand on the underside of New York's arm, guided him up and out of the kitchen. As America gathered the plates and set about washing them, he sighed. He still had to get one of his states to do this, he realized.

* * *

"You tell me about any burns you get from now on, okay Michael?" America insisted later, wagging a finger at his son seated on the couch, the state now all bandaged up and wearing lighter, looser clothing.

"Yes, dad. I get it, I'm not a kid…" New York sighed, and when he heard an 'Okay good' from his father he relaxed, assuming the nation would leave him be. He was proven wrong, however, when he felt a kiss pressed into his hair. "Dad!" he sputtered then whined, glaring in his father's general direction.

"Dad!" America mocked the state, whining right back at him. New York frowned and turned back forward on the couch as the nation left the room. Beside him, Quebec snickered.

"Shut up. This is your fault…" New York grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Quebec laughed again. "I would take you much more seriously if you weren't acting like a child," New York was, apparently, not amused. He didn't respond, and the province jokingly sighed. "You know I don't mean it. And I think America needed to know about those burns—they could have become infected if you had left them alone, Michael." He looped and arm around the state's shoulders.

New York uncrossed his arms, relaxing out of his stubborn façade. "I know," he mumbled at first, but then spoke up, "I just didn't want you two to worry. I didn't want anyone to worry." There was a slight pause before Quebec responded, as if he was considering his words.

"Well, that just won't do, really. Your father and your brothers and sisters and I will always worry about you, especially if you're injured. Hiding something won't stop the concern and care we have for you."

The state mulled the words over. He knew the province was right and only responded with a hum before the two fell into silence for a few moments.

The silence was pierced suddenly moments later by the sound of New Jersey shoving thr front door open. New York could hear a second set of footsteps on the carpet.

"Deli finally found us." he said casually, walking into the sitting room. New York cocked his head.

"…did you bring him inside?" When had his brother left, anyway? Beside him, Quebec took his arm off of the state's shoulders and gasped. He was surely backing away in disgust, New York thought.

"Yes, what did you want me to do?" New Jersey stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. The other state paused for a second before answering.

"Not bring him inside?" His brother rolled his eyes.

"Well, he's here already and he's not leaving. Besides, he won't wreck anything." He felt the couch sink down next to him. Quebec must have gotten up at some point, then.

New York sighed before feeling a heavy weight flop into his lap. "Sean, what the hell? Get off!" New Jersey snickered.

"That's not me."

"Then who—" New York was interrupted by a thin, wet tongue licking his cheek. He knew very well what it was, but didn't want to believe his own thought.

"Urgh..." he groaned, half in exasperation and half in disgust, then his brain kicked him into action, "Sean, get him off me! What are you doing?" His brother laughed again, then patted the beast on the back. The weight soon moved off of New York's lap, and he sighed. He swore he was going to force his brother to chain that thing up one day.

"Mon dieu, what _is_ that?" Quebec's voice came from across the room, signaling that he had indeed gotten up from the sofa and moved away when Deli entered the room.

"He's just my pet—y'know, the Jersey Devil. He's not really that devilish, though." Deli responded with some mix of a purr and a growl, settling his head in New Jersey's lap. While the state began to stroke his pet's head, Quebec still looked horrified.

"Yes, well…" he ran a hand though his hair, attempting to play off the fact that he had leapt up from the couch as soon as the beast entered the room, "I must go pack, I have to leave tomorrow, you know." With that the province was off, across the living room and upstairs with an air of nonchalance mixed with a hint of hurriedness. When he was about halfway up the stairs, Deli hissed, causing Quebec to dart up the last few stairs with a yelp.

New Jersey waited until he heard a door close upstairs to speak. "Did I scare off your boyfriend?"

"Shut up!"

* * *

New Jersey's relationship with his brother had, for the most part, returned to normal by the end of November. It was no longer a walking-on-eggshells feeling as it was a feeling of his brother—and the country—beginning to slowly recover from the tragedy. The older state didn't seem so meek and quiet anymore, as he had been in the weeks after he had woken. Quebec came and went, and as the days passed the house fell into a comfortable routine.

"Hey Sean, how's the recovery going at Ground Zero?"

But he had not been prepared for that question.

It came out of the blue one day, while New Jersey was sitting at his laptop and New York was sitting on the couch, Deli lying across him. His brother always did warm up to the beast after a few days.

New Jersey immediately stopped scrolling on the computer, and his mind froze. More pictures came out every day, and the state had heard a particularly gruesome report earlier that morning…

"I want to know the truth; you don't have to worry about upsetting me." At that, New Jersey turned, and his brother continued, "I started to tell you guys the truth, didn't I? So now I want to know the truth. It's so difficult to just listen to the news stories—I want to know what's really going on." The younger state still did not answer, and Deli let out a sigh.

"Um…" New Jersey tried to collect his thoughts as he stood and shut his laptop. Where to start? He crossed the room and seated himself on the couch adjacent where New York was sitting and let his head fall back against the cushions, "well…" The state bit his lip. "I-It's getting better, I suppose. I mean, it's difficult to look at the pictures—there's still so much debris sitting right in downtown Manhattan—but things are…improving," he began with a shrug, and New York nodded, emotionless, "Some of the…bodies are being identified, and on the brighter side the missing counts are going down because they've found that many people believed missing before are actually alive."

"That's good."

New Jersey nodded—focusing on positive things was a good idea. "Yeah, and…and…" he suddenly realized that he couldn't come up with anything else positive to say. The situation in itself wasn't completely hopeless, just very sad and frustrating.

"You don't have to try and be falsely positive, Sean." New York said patiently, looking towards him. At least he wasn't annoyed.

"…I know. I just don't want to have to tell you all the things I hear, sometimes." The state looked away from his brother's sightless eyes, letting his head droop, "But, if you really want to know, the rescuers aren't really rescuing people anymore, if you know what I mean."

New York didn't speak for a long time after that, and when he finally did he only responded with a choked out, "Yeah, I kind of assumed that." The younger state nodded even though his brother couldn't see him. He had nothing else to say, really, as they sat in silence.

"I felt the attacks, too, on the day after." New Jersey blurted out a few moments later; he had no idea where the statement had come from, it just seemed to burst from mouth. New York looked over to his brother.

"Really? I hadn't known…"

"Th-there's no reason to be sorry or anything!" the younger state was quick to assure. He didn't want to incite any bad feelings, "There's nothing to be sorry for, anyway. But yeah, mainly on the day after. My whole body just _ached_," he drew out the word, remembering back to the hours spent miserable in a cot, "I could barely move a muscle."

"What did they do to you? You were fine when I woke up." New York asked. He didn't look as upset as he had moments before, New Jersey noticed. He was glad to steer the other state away from that topic.

"Mandy and Izzy eventually found me and brought in a nurse, who then put me on morphine. I pretty much knocked out for the rest of the day and some of the next, I think. After a few days I was feeling better, but I just couldn't shake this…feeling, of unease and discontent. I was restless until you woke up." New Jersey barely even acknowledged his last sentence slipping out of his mouth. It was the truth, and hiding the truth from New York seemed quite unfair, now.

New York leaned his head back, letting it rest on the cushions as his brother's did. "So, did some of your citizens die, too?"

"It's almost certain, at this point. That's not really the kind of thing I would talk about with my boss, so I wouldn't know exactly, but it's unavoidable, I guess." New York had stopped stroking Deli's head, so the beast whined and begun nudging the state's hand. New Jersey chuckled despite the atmosphere—the tension felt feet thick.

Somehow, New York smiled at Deli's whine, too, and New Jersey felt the tension in the room fade away. Perhaps it had never been there to begin with.

* * *

Sometime late that night or early the next morning—he didn't know or care which—New York woke suddenly and, on a random urge, stumbled out of bed, and managed to make his way down the stairs and to the living room. He sat down on one of the couches, felt around for the remote, and flicked on the news. Only local news stories were running, so the state tugged the blanket off the back of the sofa and settled down. The couch was somehow much more comfortable than his bed, currently.

Lying his head down on the overstuffed arm of the couch, he shut his eyes, first realizing that he had forgotten his glasses upstairs and then trying to remember why he had come down here. He couldn't really come up with a solid reason.

As the state began to nod off, a repeated news story began playing. It couldn't have been live because in the background of the picture it was mid day in New York City, not the middle of the night, but New York couldn't see that. The lull of the news woman's voice only pulled the state farther into sleep.

"_…paramedics surround the site…but they're standing…nothing to do…"_

_"…grim discoveries…body parts, not bodies…" _

New York cracked his eyes open at the dull sound of machinery emanating from the television, but saw none of the still debris covered streets of the city. The news story ended, and the sounds returned to the safe and quiet noise of a news studio. As New York surrendered to sleep, a line stuck in his mind.

_"…body parts, not bodies…"_

Hours later, America woke with the sunrise, as he was prone to do. He threw on a shirt and grabbed his glasses from the nightstand, then began to make his way downstairs for breakfast.

The glowing television caught his eye first, but then he saw the lump on the couch and smiled softly. A weather report was playing on the screen, so when the nation got close enough he hit the power button on the remote and the TV shut off.

New York lay fast asleep on the sofa, a blanket haphazardly thrown over him and tangled in his legs. What had possessed his son to wander downstairs in the middle of the night was beyond America, but he was glad that he had not been woken by someone falling down the stairs. He ran a hand through the boy's short hair, and then padded off toward the kitchen—the whole house would be awake and hungry soon, no doubt.

* * *

Fall had rolled into Albany beautifully, as it did every year. Trees morphed into brilliant colors of orange, yellow, and red, and the sun began to set sooner in the evening, giving way to golden sunsets that lit up the snow on the ground like nothing else. With the fall, of course, came Thanksgiving.

"Hey y'all! Open the door—s'cold out here!" Texas slammed the door another few times with his fist, several of the other southern states shivering and nodding behind him. Just as the boy poised his hand to knock once more, the door flew open.

"Alright already! Geeze, quiet down, people are sleeping in here." America exclaimed, whispering as he stepped aside and let the crowd of his states in the door.

"At ten thirty in the mornin'? Well, that's a crime on such a nice day like this." Texas remarked, slipping gloves off of his hands. The nation ignored him for a moment, glancing among the crowd. Texas, Oklahoma, Alabama, Louisiana, Georgia, Mississippi, and Florida…so, with those seven, the total number of states in New York's home rose to twenty.

"What? Luke, you were just saying that it was cold outside, and it really is! We definitely should have held this in my state—we could have all gone to the beach afterward!" Florida said while unraveling a scarf from her neck.

"Oh, quit whining and go be useful somewhere, guys. Mike's still sleeping, so keep it down." America began frantically pushing the discarded shoes of his state's off to the side of the hallway—no reason for someone to trip and smash their face in on the tile.

The southerners stopped their chatter and glanced around at each other at their father's answer. Oklahoma was the one to speak up. "It's Michael who's still sleeping? That doesn't sound like him at all…" Her brothers and sisters nodded, adding in mumbled comments. America mentally slapped himself—he hadn't explained anything to them!

"Yep, he is. Sorry guys, I haven't really been telling you all much, have I?" He turned with a half smile, and leaned back against the wall.

So, he proceeded to explain to them—and every other group of states that arrived later—New York's progress over the two previous months. Just two days before all of the states were slated to arrive, New York had been hit with a huge migraine. To America, it seemed to be the worst so far, but New York denied that, unsurprisingly. It was well over now, the nation explained, but the injured state was still tired and should be given a decent environment to rest in. Some states seemed more interested than others, but overall the nation was thankful for his children's reactions. It had been a long time since all of them genuinely cared for each other as they did now. The thought of it was refreshing, to say the least.

After explaining the situation to the southerners, they were all silent for a moment, as if mourning the pain of their fellow state. Slowly, though, they all began to disperse and wander off to other parts of the house. Seeing their somewhat depressed mood, America made a suggestion.

"Hey, why don't you guys go help out in the kitchen? I think you all know that Mandy really isn't the best at cooking, and Sean's attempt at a pie…well, it looked somewhat like England's cooking…" The states laughed, and a shout of 'There's nothing wrong with my pies!' from the kitchen was undoubtedly New Jersey. Georgia, ever eager to cook, hastily turned towards the voice.

"Don't you worry, guys, I'll teach that yank how to make a real pie…" he said, pushing up the sleeves on his jacket and marching into the kitchen. Several of the other states giggled and followed the older boy, but Oklahoma and Texas stayed behind. Texas, sensing his sibling's apprehension, quickly made an excuse to leave.

"Well, I guess I'll just go an' make sure they don't burn down the place," he slipped his hands in his pockets and began to walk toward the kitchen, but then stopped and looked thoughtful for a moment, "t's a pity that there's no traditional Thanksgiving cake. Sean's cakes really are good…" America smirked at the remark, as did Oklahoma, but then the two were alone.

"So…" Oklahoma mumbled, feeling awkward, though she knew she shouldn't have been, "Mike is…still sleeping?" She felt like banging her head against a wall. Of _course_ he was still asleep—her father had just said that!

America raised a brow, but answered all the same. "Yep, unless he woke up within the last few minutes we've been talking. I really should go check on him; it's been a while since I've been up there..." he trailed off, his eyes travelling to the staircase almost out of habit, "would you like to come?"

It took the state a moment to realize what the nation had just asked, but then raised her hands, waving them in front of her chest. "Eh? N-no! I'm fine, thank you. I wouldn't want to, um, disturb him or anything. I'll just-just…go help out in the kitchen!" She made a hasty exit, laughing nervously, but all the while the letter sitting on her desk at home stuck in her mind.

* * *

When New York woke he immediately knew that it was past morning, or at least past the time that he usually woke. He had no way to see the clock at his bedside, of course, but his internal clock couldn't have been that far off. Pushing his blanket aside and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the state stood from his bed and retrieved his glasses from the nightstand, putting them on as he did every morning—he still didn't feel right without them. The creak of a door opening caught his attention, and he tilted his head towards the noise.

"Hey, it's just me." New Jersey's voice, hushed and calm, greeted him. The state nodded in recognition.

"Hey…what time is it?" There was a moment of silence—his brother glancing at the clock, probably.

"Just past noon. Most of the other states are here already, but dad's been hounding on them all morning to stay quiet for you." He could hear the small smile in the other's voice. Their father certainly had become protective. "You feeling alright?"

New York shrugged. "I'm better, I guess." His father would normally press him, but New Jersey understood enough to not ask. When the other state realized that his brother didn't exactly feel up to talking, though, he was quick to bring up another topic.

"So, while I was…cooking, Lukas came up to me and handed me this letter," he explained, pulling a folded up envelope out of his jean pocket, "It's addressed to you." That caught New York's attention, and he stopped rifling through his closet for a shirt to turn and face his brother.

"Well…I can't read it," he pondered over why New Jersey would bring him a letter he couldn't read, but passed over it quickly, "Who's it from?"

"Uh…from Abby Taboca, that's what the envelope says, anyway."

This new bit of information confused New York even more. Oklahoma? They barely spoke, and he didn't even remember talking to her while he was in the hospital. What did she have to say to him? Only one way to find out. "Go ahead and open it, then." The state immediately heard the crinkling and ripping of paper—apparently his brother was just as curious to discover the contents of the envelope as he was.

"Well, it's just a letter, and a short one, at that. Want me to read it to you?" New Jersey asked, unfolding the single piece of paper.

The blind state rolled his eyes. "No, Sean, give it to me, I'll read it myself—of course I want you to read it to me!" New Jersey snorted.

"Jeeze, just wondering if you wanted to keep it private or something…" when New York didn't respond, he looked down at the letter and began reading, " 'Michael…' "

"_I know we're not the closest, so I hope this letter doesn't read condescendingly."_

New York furrowed his brows—he would never expect a letter from Oklahoma to be condescending. He knew she was a nice girl, even if they didn't talk much.

_"I just want you to know, it gets better, I promise. So please don't give up or get depressed."_

The state inhaled sharply. So it was about that time.

_"It's hard not to continually think about it, to let it stay in your head, so don't get angry at yourself. It's not a sign of weakness. It's just the care you feel towards your people trying to express itself somehow."_

He found himself nodding along with the words. He hadn't really thought about it that way, but it did explain a lot. The 'sign of weakness', though…that was something he had considered often. How was he supposed to return to his prime—the most recognizable and powerful state in the union—when he was blind and practically hiding away at his home in Albany?

_" Still, just dwelling won't do any good. So please try not to dwell too much and instead try to get better. That will help everyone the best."_

It was as if she was reading his mind, he thought with a chuckle, but she was right. Hearing that from someone other than his father, though, made him actually consider it.

_"That said, don't rush it, though. Take things slowly, and I promise everything will get better._

_Please don't lose hope, and please don't stop trying._

_Love, _

_Abby Taboca"_

Both of the brothers were silent for a few moments after the reading, but then New Jersey snapped his head up.

"I get it; she's telling you this because she felt this way, too, way back in…what was it…1995? She's trying to help, I guess." he offered, wondering if New York had caught on to that. His brother, however, was still silent.

In truth, New York hadn't remembered the bombing until his brother mentioned it, and that in itself surprised him. Knowing that Oklahoma had been through something similar made sense, and now he understood why she sent the letter. But when New Jersey had been reading the letter, he hadn't been thinking about that. He had sincerely taken the advice to heart, as if she had told him those things just for the sake of saying them. She wasn't telling him these things, he realized, just because she had been in a similar situation, but because she just wanted to comfort him.

And, suddenly, something clicked.

* * *

The sound of a fork hitting a crystal glass rang out loud and clear through the dining room, and all the states—plus DC—gathered around the table hushed each other.

"I'd like to propose a toast," America stood at the head of the table and raised his glass. Beside him sat New York and, on his other side, Virginia, "to Mike, Lindsey, Isabel, and Lester, who have all started to recover awesomely from the incident earlier this year." The other states at the table clapped or called out their agreement, "And to everyone else, because all of you have helped your siblings in some way, and for just generally being a great family these last few months. It really means a lot to me." He finished with his Hollywood smile and raised his glass, and around the table fifty one other glasses rose into the air along with shouts of happiness and agreement.

As the family quieted down once again, Massachusetts glanced around a bit nervously. She felt so awkward, doing this, especially because she normally wasn't a particularly sentimental person. When near silence fell over the room in anticipation of saying grace, though, she stood from her seat.

"I, uh, I would like to make a toast, too," she said, glancing around at her siblings who were now all curiously glancing up towards her. Even New York, a few seats away from her, cocked his head in the direction of her voice, "to dad. Because…I know almost all of you haven't been here for every waking moment of the craziness that goes on in this house, but I have. And I know that…without you, dad, Mikey wouldn't be recovering so well and wouldn't be as healthy as he is today, and…and I think we're all thankful for that." Murmurs of agreement circled around the table, and America could only gaze at her with a fond smile on his face. She gave a small smile back. "So, a toast, to you, dad, for everything that you've done the past few months, despite the fact that you've been hurting, too. We all needed someone to look up to, and we're very…blessed to have someone like you."

After a half second of silence, the whole table broke out into cheers and shouts of 'here here!'. Massachusetts couldn't contain her grin, and raised her glass as she took her seat again. America looked about ready to cry, but composed himself as the table quieted down.

"Well, then," he said, his eyes still a bit watery behind his smile, "shall we say grace?" Virginia took his right hand, and with his left he lifted New York's, giving it a light squeeze. They all bowed their heads and closed their eyes, taking part in a silent grace that had been agreed on years before. It was only fair, America thought, to honor all of his state's religious choices, so he allowed each state to say their own grace silently to themselves.

"Amen." he said after a few moments, and a quiet chorus of the same word answered him. Out of the corner of his eye, the nation saw Rhode Island's hand dart for a bowl of stuffing, but he stopped the state in his tracks, "Hey! Wait, just one more thing, hm?" The states grumbled and Rhode Island slowly retracted his hand, but they all looked up to their father none the less. "I think a moment of silence is in order, for all the victims—of every country and state—of 9/11."

Each face around the table immediately grew somber at his words and silently agreed. Once again, they closed their eyes and lowered their heads, this time thinking back two and a half months.

After a few moments America raised his head and thanked them all, and New York not so sneakily whipped his head to the side to wipe at his eyes for a second.

"So, I think that's enough depression for today, yeah?" A few of the states laughed and giggled, relieving the tension in the room, "I'm starved, so let's eat!"

* * *

Long after the turkeys were carved, and the pies cut, and the numerous styles of stuffing debated, the majority of the family crowded into the living room and around the plasma television, and the football watching began. America tossed around beers to whoever asked and the volume was turned up to max, leaving the states less inclined to football to find solace elsewhere in the house.

Pennsylvania, North Carolina, and Idaho were the states to finally fall prey to America's forced dishwashing duties. It wasn't exactly forced, because none of the three was particularly interested in the game, but it wasn't exactly welcome, either, but the three agreed to do the task anyway. It would go by faster with the three of them working together.

New York sat at the small kitchen table nearby, his head down and facing towards the window. He wasn't much interested in the game either—he usually only watched it for the social aspect, at any rate. It wasn't that he felt he couldn't listen to the game if he really wanted to—he listened to baseball games all the time—but it just wasn't the same, being blind.

Not that he was moping; that was not the case at all. In truth, he was just very, very full from a particularly rich batch of stuffing that Pennsylvania whipped up and didn't have the motivation to move any farther from the dining table than the kitchen. He really had taken Oklahoma's advice seriously—he wouldn't dwell on his problems.

That thought brought an idea to his mind, and maybe he did have the motivation to move.

"Isabel?" he lifted his head and looked in the direction that the noise of the constantly running sink was coming from.

"Yes?" He heard the soft lull of conversation stop. Whoops, he hadn't meant to interrupt anything.

"I was wondering if you knew where Abby was? Is she watching the game with everyone else?" Pennsylvania mumbled that she would check and footsteps made their way over to one of the exits of the room.

"Yep, she's situated right in one of the couches. Do you want me to get her or something?" the other state asked, confusion evident in her voice. New York felt embarrassed, going to address someone that he didn't know well so personally, but pushed on.

"Yeah, if you could tell her to meet me in the front hallway in a minute that would be great." He stood, looking toward his sister. Hopefully she would take a break from the dishes to scramble over the mass of states that had come together in his living room.

It took a few seconds, but she eventually agreed, and New York breathed a sigh of relief. He thanked her, and then left the kitchen, trying to figure out what to say on his way to the front hall. When he got there he was no better off, and leaned against the nearby wall to think on it some more.

Oklahoma was surprised and a bit startled when she saw New York standing so causally in the hallway. His back was to the wall, and his thumb and forefinger on his chin, as if he was deep in thought. She knew he was going to be there, of course, because Pennsylvania told her, but being so close to her sibling still felt strange after the months that had passed. His arms were well healed and his psyche somewhat recovered, so she should have felt completely normal around him, but she still couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity. Six years ago, she had been in a similar position, albeit on a bit of a smaller scale. She shook her head at her own thought— the scale didn't matter! She had been devastated, unable to tear her gaze from the ever present stream of news coming out of her own state, so why wasn't he the same?

The mental rant raging through her mind stopped at that thought. Essentially, she answered her own question. She _couldn't stop watching_ the news after her tragedy, but he ,_couldn't watch_ the news. He couldn't see the pictures or videos; New York couldn't even see the site for himself, yet. Maybe he felt trapped, and maybe his emotions were, because he found it so difficult to cope with the situation without his sight.

"Abby?" She jumped at her name, letting out an undignified yelp. New York's face looked to be a cross between confusion and amusement at her noise, but she was quick to recover herself.

"Ah, yes, hi. Izzy said you wanted to talk to me." Her shoes clicked quietly on the tile as she stepped closer to the state.

"Yeah I…jeez…" he let out a dry laugh, looking away for a moment, "Sorry, I'm so bad at this." Oklahoma raised a hand and opened her mouth to say that he was fine, but the state continued. "I just wanted to say thank you, for the letter. Sean read it to me and…it really made sense to me. So…thanks." He reached out a hand, knowing from weeks of experience that, for some reason, anyone would take his hand if he requested it, and grasped hers when she reached over. Now knowing were the other state was, he pulled Oklahoma in and wrapped his arms around her in a hug.

The contact only lasted for a few moments; New York didn't want to come off as overly dependent. When they parted, a sigh of relief passed between them, as if a weight had been lifted from the room.

"You're welcome…" she mumbled as he walked past her towards the stairs. But…wasn't that letter at home on her desk?

When she arrived home two days later, she found that it wasn't.

* * *

-American Airlines Flight 587 crashed in a Queens, NY, neighborhood on the morning of Nov 12, 2001. It really was an accident, and it was thought to be caused by the plane taking off in another plane's tailwind, causing the flight to lose control a few minutes after takeoff.

-As with quotes from my earlier chapters, the quotes in this one are directly from news footage of the time.

-How did America fit 52 people into one dining room? Well, you could imagine that NY's dining room is just really big, or you could imagine that his dining room connnects with another room, and they cleared out that other room to use as a sort of second dining room.

-I hope I didnt portray the Thanksgiving scene as overly sappy /_\ I love happy family scenes!

-A user on dA, lavilovi12, wrote a short spinoff fic for this story. She created the Oklahoma from STP, so thats why the letter is from her. If you want to read the spinoff, head over to my dA(or hers) and look under and of the "NY oh NY" deviations. In the comments you'll find a link to the fic.


	6. Part 3c

**December**

The beginning of December proved to be largely uneventful. The amount of snow on the ground began to pile up and halfway through the month, when Quebec returned once more, the province was able to use the cold as an excuse to get New York to share a blanket with him on one of the couches. Much to Quebec's chagrin, Massachusetts managed to slip herself under the blanket, but on New York's other side, when she so kindly offered to bring them hot chocolate.

"Don't spill it in your lap, now, Mikey," Massachusetts joked, blowing into her own mug. When New York rolled his eyes and shifted into his 'I'm ignoring you' mode, she continued, "Well, you have been breaking fewer dishes lately, so I guess I shouldn't be too worried." She finished with a giggle, and on the other side of the couch Quebec scowled into his mug. He had been trying to have a nice night with his _friend_, but the other state just had to come up and interrupt them.

Never one to give in easily, though, Quebec leaned just slightly more towards New York, allowing their shoulders to touch. "It is pretty cold down here, Michael, but you know it's nothing like up in Canada. I'm thinking I might stay longer, if it is not a problem for you or your father. It would be nice, non? Perhaps you could show me around Albany a bit, I haven't been here many times…"

"Well I can't exactly show you around…" New York turned his head towards the province. He was sure that Quebec hadn't meant it in an unkind way, but talking about anything having to deal with sight had become very awkward in the recent months.

"But it is your city, is it not? And your capitol, at that! I'm sure you would be fine." He leaned even more on New York, and the state resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Really, he wasn't stupid. He knew both Massachusetts and Quebec were attempting to win his attention, and he would usually get up and leave, but he found that he was much too warm and comfortable, so he had no reason to ruin the moment.

When the night wore on and their mugs emptied, though, he felt himself gradually dozing off during any lull in conversation. To save himself from falling asleep on one of the two next to him and subsequently being accused of picking sides, he decided to get up.

"I'm getting pretty tired," he said, leaning forward to set his empty mug down on the coffee table, "I think I'll just go shower and go to bed." The two next to him agreed and, after standing from the couch, Quebec volunteered Massachusetts to take the empty mugs out to the kitchen.

"There is no need to worry," he said, his voice smooth as honey and not at all betraying his true intentions, "I'll see Michael up to his room." Massachusetts scowled at the province the whole time, and Quebec only smirked back at her before linking his arm with New York's and starting up the stairs.

New York, after three months, had become well accustomed to showering while blind. He asked Quebec to retrieve a towel, but nothing more, because he could manage the rest himself.

None of it stopped the province, though, from following New York into the bathroom.

"You don't need to be in here with me, Jean." New York insisted as he entered the bathroom, the .Canadian in tow. Quebec put the lid on the toilet down and sat, leaning against the counter nearby.

"I know."

"Then _why_ do you insist on staying? I did this for two months with my dad and Sean, and I've been in here alone for the past two weeks, yet I've never fallen." he explained, stepping into the shower and undressing, tossing his clothes into the hamper nearby from behind the curtain. He turned on the faucet first, waiting for the water to heat up, then flicked the shower on, letting the warm spray soak his hair.

"But Sean is gone, isn't he? Back to his own state for a while? What if you fell tonight, with your father and Malinda down stairs? I can't leave you in such a potentially horrible situation! And maybe I have missed you, Michael," Quebec said, his tone overdramatic, "I was gone for nearly a month! Did you not miss my presence?"

New York was sure that the province was shooting him his best charming smile from behind the curtain—the kind of smile that made all the girls in Montreal giggle and trip over themselves. "Whatever…" he said with a snort, and soon the two were immersed in light conversation about whatever came to their minds. New York remained in the shower even after he was done washing, seating himself on the tile floor and letting the water cascade down his back. When their discussion came to a lull both boys sat in comfortable silence, enjoying the warmth from the steamy shower and the soothing sound of the water hitting the tile.

"Did it ever occur to you that I'm here simply because I wish to talk to you as a friend, and not to baby you because of your injury?" Quebec said suddenly, and New York jerked up, having nearly nodded off in the silence.

"What?" he said, beginning to stand from the shower floor.

"I said—" Quebec heard the thump of the state's knee hitting the floor before the 'Shit!' that was muttered, and managed to lunge forward to catch New York as he fell face first out of the shower. With the upper half of a very wet state lying in his arms, Quebec wasn't exactly sure what to do. New York was just glad that the shower curtain seemed to be covering everything below his hips.

"Uh…" was all New York could manage at first, "Could you, um, help me up, Jean?" Quebec stared at him for a moment, but then nodded.

"O-of course." He guided New York's hand up to his shoulder, and helped the state push back onto his feet. Placing a hand onto the shower wall for safety, New York released Quebec, and the province was soon to follow suit.

"You are sure that you're fine?" Quebec asked, nervousness and concern lacing his voice.

"Yes, let me just….um, if you could just pass me a towel, please…" New York turned around, shutting off the water. A second later he heard Quebec's arm push through the curtain, a towel in hand. He took it with a quiet thanks.

While the state toweled off, Quebec sat back down on the toilet lid and exhaled. "I hope I don't embarrass you too much, mon chou." He said, smirking and letting the worried emotions melt off of him.

"What do you mean?" New York furrowed his brows behind the curtain.

"If you didn't notice, when you fell into my arms you were blushing like a school girl, Michael." The state sputtered, glaring at whatever direction Quebec's voice was coming from.

"I was not!"

"Oh, but you were! But never fear—I'm sure you have nothing to be embarrassed about."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Quebec only smirked wider, making sure it was very evident in his voice.

"Whatever you want it to mean, mon ange."

"Get out!" Quebec was half way to the door when New York chucked the bottle of shampoo at him, and with surprisingly good accuracy. He retreated into New York's own room, laughing the whole time.

* * *

Music developed a new meaning to New York over the grueling months that he spent blind. America was usually the first to wake, so as soon as it was a decent hour of the morning he would turn on the large television in New York's living room and let MTV play throughout the house. Their morning programming was a constant stream of the latest artists and music videos, so there was always something interesting and catchy ringing through the house.

Though he had never truly admitted it, New York was very grateful for the noise, despite the fact that it would occasionally wake him up early. The music was something to listen to, something to think about in his world of darkness and, usually, relative silence. It broke up the monotony and gave the state something to stop and appreciate for a moment.

"What'cha doing, Mike?" America caught him one morning, standing at the top of the stairs and just listening.

"Nothing, really," he gripped onto the rail and began to make his way downstairs, "just enjoying the music."

The problem with MTV, though, was that by eleven in the morning the music stopped, and other programs came on. America would usually turn the TV off, then, or New York would change it to another channel—the news, more often than not.

Other mediums by which to listen to music were available, but New York couldn't presently use a computer, and CD players were a hassle, having to constantly change the disks. Every so often, though, concerts would be broadcast on TV—memorial concerts, using the big name artists to raise money for September eleventh charities. New York enjoyed these, too, especially because the pure emotion and excitement behind the live versions of songs was incomparable to the recorded versions played on MTV.

"I'm not so sure about some of the more, uh, 'patriotic' songs, though." he described to Quebec one day while a rerun of a concert played on the screen in front of them, "Some of those are nice, and the crowds usually like them—my dad loves them, too—but I'm not too sure how I feel about a song saying that America will 'stick a boot up your ass'." He used air quotes, signaling to the province that he was indeed quoting right from the aforementioned song. The Canadian burst of laughing, but agreed with the state nonetheless.

Since the year was nearly over—the three month anniversary of the attacks already passed—the memorial concerts began to trickle off, meaning New York was beginning to need to find more and more to do to fill up his time, especially at night. During the day he would occasionally talk to his boss or even go up into Albany for meetings, on occasion. Virginia and Pennsylvania also called several times, telling him of the progress they had both made in their own respective tragedies and recoveries. Pennsylvania's injury had actually long since faded, but she still cared enough to call and ask how he was doing when she got the time.

This year, America finally decided—or rather, was convinced by the other states— just days before Christmas, the whole family would not be getting together for the holidays. Thanksgiving had already been celebrated in Albany, so it was unfair to force all the sates to travel so far again, especially since some came from all the way across the country.

When Christmas day rolled around, then, only New Jersey, Massachusetts, New York, Quebec, and America celebrated together. New York decided, though, the he preferred it, because arguments and fights were bound to come with a large group of states. Massachusetts agreed.

The states, and America, had long ago agreed that gift giving was not really necessary anymore, unless it was a gag gift or for someone that they cared for very, very much. They had all been through over a hundred Christmases now—what more was there to give? Especially when the states could easily go out and buy something themselves if they really wanted it. America still loved the idea of opening presents on Christmas day, though, so every year he would usually pick a handful of his states and buy them something nice.

"Hey Mike, I've got something for ya'."

This year, he just happened to find something perfect for New York.

"What?" the state asked, taking a sip of his morning coffee. Suddenly, a small box was shoved into his free hand. His eyebrows knitted in confusion as he set the mug down and used both hands to feel the box, "What is this?"

"It's a present, duh!" he laughed as he sat down across from New York at the kitchen table. The three others at the table gazed at the present with equal interest. "It is Christmas, after all." Hearing that, that state's hand immediately moved to the top of the box, feeling the tell tale bow.

"Wait…" New York cocked his head, setting the box down, but not taking his hands off of it, "Did you seriously wrap this? I'm blind, it wouldn't make a difference even if it wasn't wrapped." Sometimes, New York questioned his father's ways.

America rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but that's boring! C'mon, unwrapped presents aren't fun! Now go on, open it." The state could hear the excited smile in his father's voice, and sighed in feigned annoyance before finding a seam in the wrapping and tearing the paper away.

Within seconds that wrapping paper was gone and the cardboard box that contained the present opened, and New York still didn't know what exactly he was receiving.

"All I can feel is plastic, now will you tell me what it is?" America laughed again at the boy's annoyance, but then stood and plucked the plastic thing out of his son's hands.

"Fine, fine, you have to ruin all the fun, Mike. I'll cut it open for you." He turned towards a counter, set out on finding some scissors, while New York took another sip of his coffee and listened to Massachusetts murmuring something to New Jersey. She already recognized the present, it seemed.

New York listened to the sound of slicing scissors and crackling plastic for a few moments before a small, thing rectangle object was placed back in his hands. He ran his fingers over it, his brows creasing again when he felt a smooth, cool surface. His only clue to the identity of the object was a raised circle on one of the flat sides of it.

"I don't understand…" he murmured, still feeling the object over for clues. Beside him, Massachusetts asked Quebec if he knew what it was, a knowing smile on her face. Quebec nodded back, mirroring her happiness. America really did have some good ideas, on occasion.

"It's called an iPod," America finally said, and New York paused, cocking his head, "It's this new thing that Apple came out with—it stores tons of songs without a CD, and it came with its own headphones, so now you can listen to music whenever you want!" The nation pressed something else into New York's palm—a long and thin cord, the headphones, he assumed—before sitting back down across from the state. "You'll have to let me or someone else help you with putting music on it, since you need a computer, but after you can use it all yourself. Feel that circle? That switches back and forth between songs." America described, and New York nodded, pressing the circle he had felt before and hearing little clicks each time.

"This is…really cool," he admitted, a bit surprised at the undoubtedly expensive gift, "Thank you, I think I'll really like it." He smiled slightly at America, and the nation returned the grin tenfold.

New York more than just liked his new iPod—he fell absolutely in love with it. The device seemed to have a never ending storage capacity, as after two hundred songs it wasn't even half full. The little white ear buds were in the state's ears at least half of the day, and the other occupants of the house were often forced to walk up and shake the state's shoulder if they wanted his attention.

When New York wasn't using the iPod himself, he was either eating, sleeping, showering, or sharing the device with someone else. Since the headphones weren't connected, the state often split them between himself and whoever happened to be sitting next to him. He smiled more, too, America began to notice, especially when the sounds of Broadway plays could be heard drifting up from New York's vicinity.

* * *

After Christmas, the weeks seemed to just zip by for New York. When Massachusetts left to go back to her own state for a week in January, he felt, for the first time, that life had actually began to return to some semblance of normal. New Jersey and America also made several trips out of Albany, too, because, after four months, the rest of the country began to move on.

"It's not an immediate thing, I promise," America told him one night, as the two sat together in New York's room before the nation left to catch a plane to D.C. the next morning, "Believe me, I'm still really spooked about getting on a plane, but I have to do it. We kind of all have to, you know? I know you've been the one affected by this the worse, but all of the states have to take that first step to recovery, no matter how big or small it is." When New York only looked saddened by his father's words, the nation continued. "But, hey, if you don't want to take that step yet, well, no one said you had to," He reached across the distance between them and set a hand on the state's shoulder, "Me and all of your siblings are here to take care of you until you take that first step and start to come to acceptance with what happened."

New York still did not respond, and looked away to where he knew his iPod to be lying on his bedside table. Everything was so much easier with music. He didn't have to think about anything…

"I know it hurts," America's voice made him look back forward, and the state scrunched his eyes closed. He _promised_ himself that he would stop crying… "I think you and me know the best, right? We're the only two who really felt those towers fall, and we're the only two who can both hear all of your citizens' pain, especially the ones in New York City," New York felt the tell tale pressure between his eyes, and knew his efforts were lost, now, "but believe me, there are other people hurting, too, all over the country. The scale of this whole ordeal…it can't be measured by which state lost the most people, or by who hurts the most. We _all_ hurt, and are sad, and everyone cries sometimes," America wiped away the first tear that leaked onto New York's cheeks, "so, the point is, if you're not ready to come to grips with everything, then don't. It's going to take time, and some people might take longer than others, and that's fine—that's completely fine."

* * *

New York listened to his father's words, just as he had Oklahoma's, and kept trying to move on. What was moving on, anyway? He thought about it often, but couldn't truly come up with an answer. He had already began to return to work, if only a little, by having whoever was home drive him into Albany so he could talk to his boss about everything going on. He sat in on meetings, and even talked to New York City's mayor a few times, so it all had to be worth something, right?

When nothing had changed with his sight by April, however, New York began to wonder if he ever could move on. The doctors knew what was wrong—the attacks on New York had been a sort of head injury, and the swelling caused by the head injury put pressure on his optic nerves and damaged them—but they refused to do anything about it. It would be too risky, they always said, because he wasn't truly a human.

"You states work in very strange ways," his own doctor described to him, "Injuries that would kill a human several times over are, to you, survivable, but they tend to cause some extra damage, as you now know. As for healing you, I can't say much. Surgeries on states and nations have been done before, but for more trivial things, like removing bullets, but nothing like brain surgery. Even so, there is little that could even be done, so I'm not about to crack open your head on a worthless and quite dangerous venture." While difficult to hear, New York managed to accept the doctors answer, at least.

After the disappointing visit, New York tried distracting himself with the positive in order to get by. One day in late April, America, Massachusetts, and New Jersey's schedules overlapped, and they were all forced to be away from Albany on the same day. America was extremely reluctant to leave his still blind son at home alone, but New York managed to convince him otherwise. It was only a few hours, anyway, he pointed out, because Massachusetts was leaving at 8 A.M. and New Jersey could be home by noon, so what was the worst that could happen?

"I decided to stay at this house for a reason, dad," New York told the fretting nation, "I do know it very well, and the past half year that I've spent here blind has only helped that."

With New York's confident tone, America finally agreed to the situation. A few days later, as the state bid goodbye to Massachusetts when she prepared to leave, he felt a sense of pride bubble up in his chest. He could do this, he told himself—it was only four hours—and maybe this is what America meant by moving on; regaining a sense of confidence in himself.

His time alone began completely normal. He had already eaten breakfast, so, for lack of anything better to do, he sat down on the couch and listened to the news. The very first story was reporting that the cleanup at Ground Zero was going well and was slated to be finished by the end of May. Hearing it cheered him up, if only in an odd and somber sort of way. The towers just being completely gone was still a difficult concept for him to grasp, but at least the rest of the city wouldn't be forced to stare at the horrific reminder any more.

After the station had run through their headlines New York grew bored, and shut the TV off around nine. With a sigh, he flopped over on the couch, shutting his eyes for a moment. It made sense, that the cleanup was almost done. He had, over the previous days, begun to feel a weight lift off his shoulders. Perhaps his state was truly beginning to move on, and he would soon, too? New York definitely hoped so, as he stood up from the couch and headed upstairs to his bedroom. The weight lifting off him came with a sense of relief, and with relief he found himself sleeping much more peacefully. And why waste time worrying when he could be sleeping? When he reached his bed and slid under his blanket, slipping his glasses off and setting them on the small table beside him, he stopped thinking and let himself relax. What had been the bane of his nights months before was now one of the most enjoyable things he could do, and within minutes he was out like a light.

When he woke, New York had no idea what time it was. During all his time being blind he had almost never been completely alone, so asking for the time was never a problem. He could turn on a radio station, he supposed, because they would announce the time every once in a while, but decided against it. New Jersey might have already been home, anyway, so he decided on heading downstairs before figuring out what to do next. As the state felt around for his glasses he came across his iPod and, after putting his glasses back on, positioned the headphones in his ears and unlocked the device while heading out of his room.

After using the iPod so often, he could easily navigate it without his sight. Well, he could get to his list of songs, at least, and all the songs were in alphabetical order, so if he had a song in mind he could just skip forward to it, even though pressing the 'next' button several dozen times became a hassle. It would be easier once his sight came back, he always told himself, when he would be able to navigate the playlist normally—

He had been going down the stairs quite fast, but usually that wasn't a problem. Today, though, New York misplaced his foot on one of the steps just so and, as a result, slipped and went tumbling down the hardwood stairs. He quickly lost his grip on his iPod, and vaguely heard something clunking down the stairs and landing with a smack on the floor right before he reached the bottom himself. The state, though, was much larger than the iPod and, after reaching the bottom of the stairs, slid across the floor and straight into the wall.

For the first few seconds, New York could only lay on the hardwood floor, unmoving. Had that really just happened? The whole morning he had actually felt proud for being able to take care of himself, only to fall down the stairs like an idiot after being alone for what couldn't have been more than two or three hours. Gritting his teeth in anger and frustration, the state placed his palms flat on the floor and pushed himself up into a sitting position, leaning against the wall behind him. No part of his body seemed to be too injured, so he began to feel around for his iPod and headphones, which had also been lost in the fall. The iPod had landed a bit in front of him, and he found the headphones all tangled up to his right, but thankfully the devices didn't seem to have sustained any damage.

Slipping the iPod into his pocket, New York placed his right foot flat on the floor and braced his hands on the wall, lifting himself up. As soon as he put his left foot down to step forward though, his ankle protested violently, and he pitched forward, falling to his knees when his ankle could no longer support his weight.

"Shit…" he muttered to himself, furrowing his brows in pain and reaching around to feel the injured ankle. Nothing felt wrong, but that was not a good indicator to go by. With no one home, New York decided that getting to a chair or couch would be the best plan of action, and he was sure that he could accomplish that by supporting himself with the wall or something similar.

Using just his hands and one foot, the state hauled himself to a standing position again and tentatively took a step forward, leaning heavily on the wall next to him. His ankle protested loudly once again, but he ignored it, moving his weight onto his uninjured ankle as quickly as he could. His next step, though, failed, his ankle almost immediately giving out and causing him to fall to his knees once again. The combination of his knees hitting the floor, the pain emanating from his ankle, and the sheer frustration of feeling hopeless overtook New York, and he slammed his fists onto the hardwood as hard as he could.

"God dammit!" he screamed, resting his forehead on the floor and clenching his teeth again. He hadn't felt anything like the anger pulsing through his veins in months, and within minutes he had practically exhausted himself just by attempting to vent his emotions. New York soon found himself panting and relaxing his tensed muscles, and then rolling onto his side on the floor. He felt so worthless, lying there, unable to do anything for himself. He still didn't know what time it was, and had no idea how long it would be until his brother got home. The closest phone was in the kitchen, and he had no hope of reaching it, now.

Luckily for New York, New Jersey had just arrived home and, as he stepped out of his car, heard the thump and muffled shout. Quickly gathering all of his things, he rushed to the front door and opened it tentatively.

"Mike—oh…" New York wasn't more than fifteen feet from the front door, so New Jersey immediately saw him. The state lifted his head when his brother called his name, and pushed himself up was the other state walked over.

"Are you alright…?" New Jersey scanned his brother over when he got closer. Nothing looked wrong with him, save for the fact that he had quite a despondent expression.

"I…I fell down the stairs…" New York mumbled, and his brother just barely heard him. Furrowing his eyebrows, New Jersey kneeled next to him.

"Well, are you injured at all?" New York seemed calm, so he saw no need to panic or exacerbate the situation.

New York looked toward his ankle and placed a hand over it. "Yeah, I think I twisted my ankle pretty bad. I can't hold and weight on it at all, really." New Jersey's eyebrows shot up. That sounded pretty serious, so he told his brother to move his leg out in front of him. New York did, and the other state examined his foot, but found nothing outwardly wrong with it.

"It looks a little swollen, I guess, and it'll probably get worse. C'mon, I'll help you get to the couch or something and then get some ice." New York nodded, still looking distant and emotionless, and slipped an arm around his brother's shoulders.

After just two steps with the help of New Jersey, New York gave up completely on using his left foot. He lifted it up off the floor and was forced to hobble the rest of the way over to the couch, which luckily wasn't too far. After his brother set him down and then left for the kitchen, the state turned the handle on the side of the couch and brought the footrest up with a sigh. Now, for the next few days more than ever, he would be forced to have someone taking care of him nearly all day.

New Jersey soon returned with a gallon sized bag full of ice cubes, and his cell phone to his ear.

"No, dad, I'm pretty sure he's fine. He said he fell down the stairs and twisted his ankle, but he's really not that hurt. I'm just going to put some ice on it and…" The state stopped talking for a few seconds, and from his position on the couch New York could hear the loud and fretful chatter of America on the other end of the line, "I know, I know, but that doesn't matter now. But you don't have to come home, alright? I'm pretty sure the President would be angry if you just up and left after promising to stay in Washington for a week…"

He handed the bag to New York, who positioned it under his foot, hissing at the icy feeling, and then sat down next to his brother. "Dad, seriously, we'll be fine! Mandy will be home by tomorrow night and…What? No! I already said you don't have to—dammit…" New Jersey took the phone away from his ear, scowling at the words 'call ended' on the screen. He sighed, setting the phone down on the table in front of him, and then collapsing back against the couch.

"Well, dad's coming home," he said, sounding exasperated, "I thought I had him convinced for a second, but I guess mentioning Mandy wasn't the best idea. She'd probably just hurt you more, with her, uh, 'nursing' skills…" New York snorted, but even that seemed half hearted. New Jersey straightened up, glancing over to his brother. The state still on gazed blankly forward, and his expression hadn't changed a bit.

"So, uh, are you really not injured besides your ankle? I would hate to have dad come home and yell at me for lying to him over the phone…" he asked, wondering if his brother would even react to the direct question.

"Yeah, I guess I'm okay," New York responded, after a moment, "I think I was more surprised and shocked than injured at first, but then I tried to stand…"

The other state hummed in understanding, and a few more moments of silence passed between them. "How did you fall down the stairs, anyway?"

New York let his head and neck fall back against the cushions, so he was looking nearly straight up. "I was just going down the stairs and slipped. I had just woken up, so that might have been the reason…"

The silence persisted again, and now it was starting to get awkward. New Jersey started to say something, but was interrupted by New York just before he began speaking.

"I really am okay, it's just…" he moved his head, this time to look down at his lap, "I...I feel like I'm so useless…" His brother's voice got quieter and quieter, and it reminded him all too much of when New York had first woken up.

"Useless?" New Jersey's voice was just as quiet, but in disbelief. Did his brother really think that about himself?

"Yes!" New York's voice grew in volume, and his brother was glad to see he was at least expressing some kind of emotion, "I'm-I'm just always here in this stupid house, holed up like…like…like some cripple unfit for society! And I can barely even take care of myself. For god sakes, I was alone for four hours and I manage to fall down the stairs and fuck up my ankle? I would usually never do that. I just can't take it anymore!" The state balled his hand up, hitting the armrest out of anger, "And this blindness. I can't do a damn thing about my blindness! How am I supposed to run my state if I'm fucking blind?" It was a rhetorical question, New Jersey knew, and he made no move to answer it.

"And I don't think it's ever going to end. Everyone just says 'Don't worry, Mike, it'll go away' or 'You're a state, you'll heal yourself' but it's not helping! I'm so tired of hearing people's condolences, I'm tired of not being able to do anything, and I'm tired of being fucking blind!" New York's protests grew louder and louder, and he outright shouted the final one. His brother, alarmed at how much he had been holding back, hastily moved to quell the other state's anger.

"Whoa, hey, Mike, calm down," his words were met with a shout of 'Don't tell me to calm down!' and a fist sent flying in his direction. Luckily, he caught it before it hit his cheek—not that it was aimed well, anyway—and asserted himself again. "Michael, calm down. I know you're angry, but hitting me in the face won't help." At the mention of nearly hitting his brother, New York froze, and then let his arm go limp. New Jersey released it.

"I'm sorry, you're…you're right." It looked like it hurt him to admit that.

"I know, and I want to tell you something, because I've been thinking about this a lot over these past few months." New York nodded, turning to face him, indicating that the other state had his full attention.

"Alright," New Jersey sighed—he just hoped this would go over well, "So, I know you're frustrated, but I think you should think not just about yourself, but your own citizens, too," New York's ears perked up at that, "because I know it's hard—and I guess I'll never understand what you went through—but I don't think you've been thinking of how they feel enough. You were, are horribly injured, but some people have it worse. I've seen plenty of pictures, and heard plenty of stories about the survivors, but I think one thing that's really important to remember is that many, many people lost their lives that day. I'm not saying that you can't be sad or scared, but at least you lived through it, even if you would have come back to life anyway. Think of all the people who lost someone then—they could have been anybody; a wife or a husband or brother or sister. Mom, dad, boyfriend, girlfriend, a lover or a best friend, and they won't come back."

"You were pretty damn close to dying, too, if you ask me," New Jersey added on, looking down, "and you should be thankful that you didn't." He took a deep breath. In truth, he had never really thought about that day until very recently, and was having trouble moving on from it himself. "I wouldn't have wanted you to die…" he added on, almost an afterthought. New York nodded, and neither of them spoke for a few moments.

"Anyway, that's not the only thing I wanted to say," his brother looked up at him, curious, "I-I wanted you to know that I think you're really, really brave for going through all this. I can't even imagine how hard it is, but, to me, you seem to work through all of this like it's nothing. I don't think many of the other states could manage it as well as you have." New York's eyes widened a bit, taken aback, "But that doesn't mean you can give up now. Mike, I don't know if your sight will ever come back, but you'll never be the powerful and impressive guy that you always have been by telling yourself you can't do anything just because you're blind," he chuckled, shaking his head, "I mean, c'mon, we're part of America. I'm sure if you asked dad he could tell you a hundred stories about amputees or deaf or blind people doing amazing things and having successful lives just like any person who didn't have a disability."

New York laughed, too, and nodded. His brother was probably right. New Jersey didn't say anything for a while after that, perhaps giving him time to digest the words. The other state was right, he knew, but it was just so hard to move on—it was so hard to not give up.

"Also, when I was driving down to Jersey, I took some time and stopped by Ground Zero." New York's head shot up at that, his eyes wide and ears begging to hear any news, "It's...um…well, better, I guess you could say. Better than the pictures I've been seeing, anyway. I think it'll still be pretty shocking to you, y'know, when you finally see it, but I'm glad you didn't have to see it in the first few weeks after, or at least not in person. It's…a very difficult scene to take in." New York was sure that that was the least his brother could say about that, but he took careful notice of the other state's choice of words. New Jersey had just told him that he would see the site one day, and that brightened New York's spirits a bit. Just one more person that could believe in him when he couldn't believe in himself.

* * *

**May**

May came through upstate New York beautifully, bringing warmer temperatures and soft breezes. New York, after more encouraging from Massachusetts and New Jersey, regained his confidence, and his ankle was better within a week. Quebec, who had last visited in early April, didn't return until the last week of May, having much to do up in his home nation.

"Ontario and Nova Scotia have decided that they're going to go serve in this…war, I guess you would call it. Alberta and Saskatchewan are going, too, since they're older now and my father will allow them to go." Quebec told them when he returned, with a hint of sadness. He wouldn't be going, though; or not yet, at least. The three states understood. They, too, hoped to one day go and serve in the conflict—it only felt right—but, for now, the home front was in shambles, so staying stateside was the best decision.

On one of the last days in May New Jersey woke as he always did, rolling out of bed to then stumble into the bathroom to wash his face and brush back his sleep mussed hair. Afterwards he came back into the main bedroom—he was still sharing the master bedroom with New York, so the bathroom was connected—and pulled a pair of pants on over his boxers before moving over to the window to open the blinds. America was always spouting crap about being eco-friendly, so he figured it was the least he could do, rather than turning a light on. The window was right next to New York's bed, but the sunshine shining in the window didn't matter to him, anyway.

The state would have continued about his normal morning routine if it weren't for the fact that New York woke up right as he turned away from the window.

"What the—Ow! Jesus Christ, Sean close the damn blinds! It's so bright… ugh…" New York then buried his face back in his pillow and pulled his blanket far up over his head. New Jersey's eyes widened when he realized what his brother said, and he mechanically stepped back to close the blinds, thinking about slapping himself just to make sure that he wasn't dreaming and that what he had just heard was real.

When New York didn't say anything else, New Jersey just stared at the lump on his brother's bed like it had just grown a limb. "Did you hear what you just said to me?" he asked incredulously.

Under the blanket, New York rolled his eyes. "Yes," he grumbled, working his arm out from under the covers and then throwing the blanket off him to glare at his brother, "I told you to close the—"

Red. It was the first thing he saw—his brother's red hair, almost a crimson color in the dark room. Next he saw the crème walls behind him, and then his brother's white tank top and grey sweatpants, and it was all just a blur. Keeping his eyes on New Jersey—and the other state stared right back at him—New York reached over to his nightstand for his glasses. He jumped back when he put his hand over them, as if he was expecting it all to be a dream, and then followed his arm to wear his fingers rested over the glasses. Still moving slowly, he lifted them and slipped them onto his face, and everything became sharp and clear. On his nightstand he found the strangest device—white with a little screen and a circle raised in the center of it. The state lifted it up and felt the raised circle, and realized that this was his Christmas gift—his iPod.

"Oh…"was all he could manage. So that's what it looked like. He set it back down and looked over to his brother.

"I can see."

New Jersey nodded, his lips twitching into a smile. "Th-that's good." As New York pushed aside his blanket, the other state stepped back, giving him room to step out of bed. New York said nothing more, but turned to the blinds and twisted them open just slightly. Only a little light came in at first, and he managed to handle it, so he twisted them open a bit more, and more and more until they were completely open.

Outside, it was a normal day in Albany. The grass on the ground was green as the colder temperatures were replaced by warmer ones, and plenty of leaves covered the trees that had previously been bare. The sky was a perfect light blue, as the sun had already risen, and a few small, white clouds dotted the sky.

New York just stared for a few minutes, trying to observe every little detail of the scene in front of him, and then finally turned back to his brother. The two could only stare at each other blankly.

"So, uh, what now?" New York asked. New Jersey shrugged.

"I guess we could go tell dad and Mandy and Jean."

Oh, New York thought, that was probably a good idea. He had nearly forgotten the other three were here.

America stared at New York funny when he walked into the kitchen beside his brother. The state's eyes were focused, and he was twisting his head all around, like he was looking for or at something. Just a second later though, his gaze fell directly on him.

"Good morning, dad, and you, too, Jean and Mandy." The other two bid him good morning with the same surprise that America was feeling. The state, instead of walking over to his normal place at the table, walked directly over to America and peeked over his shoulder at what he was making for breakfast. "Oh, pancakes? They look great. Did you make coffee yet?" The nation continued to stare at his son like he was crazy, but answered nonetheless.

"Yeah…let me get you some." He moved to reach up into a cabinet, but the state stopped him.

"No, it's fine, I can get it." New York reached up to the cabinet his father had been going towards and opened it to find a myriad of cups and mugs all placed side by side. He picked out one—his 'I heart New York' mug, the nation noticed—and then turned towards the other counter where the coffee pot sat, America turning to watch him walk away. He stared at the back of New York's head for a minute before looking towards Massachusetts, Quebec, and New Jersey. The former two looked just as confused as he was.

"Mike?" he finally decided to ask, and he hoped the answer was what he thought it would be, "Are you alright?" New York finished pouring his cup of coffee, and then turned his head towards America.

"Yeah," his smile looked like it would split his face in half, and all the while tears had begun to stream down his cheeks, "I'm great."

* * *

After much rejoicing and a few tears, the nation, three states, and province found themselves in New York's car, America driving, New York in the passenger's seat, and the other three together in the second row, and headed down to New York City. It was the first thing New York had requested to do, and they all knew that it had been coming. He had to see it at some point, and there was no reason to hide his own city from him, especially when he could easily get on the internet and see dozens of videos and photos.

Sadly, though, the ride wasn't very short. It was a good three hours down to New York, and that wasn't even counting the traffic of Manhattan. None of them spoke much, except for America, who told them—though he was speaking more towards New York—where they would go and how they would see the Ground Zero site. After that, New York slipped his headphones in—he had his iPod, as always—and listened to music the whole ride down. He wasn't even really listening to the noise coming out of the tiny speakers, too preoccupied with watching the scenery pass by. He was glad that his own state, his beautiful state, was the first thing he could see.

The New York City skyline very gradually came into view as they drove ever closer. Eventually, New York looked forwards and drew in a sharp breath. In the otherwise quiet car, the noise seemed very loud. All four of the others glanced at him for a moment, but the state said nothing, only continuing to look forward, so they all left him alone.

From that point on New York's eyes never left the horizon. The city got closer and closer, but those two famous buildings never appeared.

Manhattan traffic was horrible, as they all knew, but America had been through it many times, and not always in a car. It took a little extra time—and every extra second grated on New York's nerves—but eventually they pulled into a small parking garage, got out of the car, and headed towards the site. They weren't going to the traditional viewing platform, because that was much too busy and tourist-y, America described. Instead, they headed to a more secluded area that the nation had discovered, and he promised that the view was just as clear.

They were forced to wait at an awfully long crosswalk just before they could reach the site. New York, at some points, seriously considered just darting across the street and dodging the cars. The concrete platform stuck out a ways, so he couldn't see past it or the chain link fence that separated it from the actual site. After a while it struck him that he should have been looking _up_, up at his hundred-and-ten story buildings that towered above anything else for miles around.

But they weren't up there anymore. In truth, they weren't even on the ground anymore.

Finally, the little cross signal lit up, and as they stepped across the white lines, in front of cars and taxis and trucks, New York's heart began to pound. He could hear it in his head and feel it in his toes, and he felt like he was going to explode after every step he took. Once on the other side of the street, America placed a hand on the small of New York's back, jerking him back to reality.

"Well, go have a look." He said simply and New York nodded, stepping forward and away from the rest of their small group. The platform allowed them to be away from the street quite a bit, thankfully. It was almost set off from the rest of the area around it, and understandably so. Behind him, the other four followed, but kept a bit of a distance.

Numbly, New York stepped up to the chain link fence and pressed his face close to it, gazing out into the site—the hole—that now sat at the center of his city. The state did not move or speak for some time, but New Jersey, Massachusetts, Quebec, and America gave him his own time.

After a few minutes New York took in a breath suddenly, but did nothing more. The other four glanced at each other, unsure what to do. Finally, Quebec stepped forward.

"Michael?"

The state took one, two steps back from the fence before his legs failed him and he fell to his knees. He fell forward then, onto his palms, and let his head hang down.

"Oh my god, It's all real. It's all so, so real." New York sobbed, his tear drops landing on the inside of his glasses. His family and friend moved around him then, Quebec on one side and New Jersey and Massachusetts on his other. America stayed behind.

"For months I've heard about all the destruction, I've heard the death toll and how rescuers are pulling body parts from the ruins, I've heard about the ash that covered the streets, I've heard about the thousands and thousands of pounds of debris that was taken from the site, but this?" he said, lifting his head to gaze back at the barren land before him, "This is horrible. Thousands of people are dead, my towers are gone, and…and…" he hesitated, shaking his head, unable to come up with anything to say, "I don't know what to do anymore."

His last word was a more of a choked sob, but the three around him understood. Massachusetts placed her hand over New York's, and New Jersey placed his hand over hers. Quebec sat up on his knees and reached up to stoke the state's back lightly. They all knew it was best to just let New York cry himself out, as he was inconsolable for now.

It broke Quebec's heart, though, to see his friend next to him sobbing, so he wrapped an arm around New York's torso and, gently, began to tug him down from his hands and knees.

"Oi…come on, Michael, that can't be comfortable. So, just…allez-hop!" With some awkward maneuvering, the province managed to lean the state comfortably up against his shoulder. New York said nothing, but let his head fall against his friend's collar bone as he stared blankly at the footprints of the towers. Quebec wrapped an arm around the state's waist, and the two other states moved closer to the two, Massachusetts threading her fingers with New York's and New Jersey placing a hand on his brother's shoulder.

And so they sat together, listening to the cranes and the cars and all the sounds of the city.

Lives moved on.

A dirty chain link fence.

Broken lenses on the floor.

* * *

-The song New York was talking about is "Courtesy Of The Red, White And Blue / The Angry American" by Toby Keith. It was written specifically for 9/11 and played at many memorial/support our troops concerts. In my opinion, the lyrics are questionable.  
-The first ever iPod was released in October, 2001, but it had a scrolling wheel and forward/backward buttons, unlike newer versions. There were other portable music players at the time, but they weren't that good, so Apple decided to develop a better one.  
-The part about the head injury is pretty mush the best explanation for NY's blindness. This type of thing can happen with any head injury, but the worse the injury is, the more swelling of the brain occurs, meaning the nerves are damamged more.

I hope everyone understood my bad symbolism. But if you didn't-  
**Lives moved on.**  
Everyone else moving on, while New York was still struggling and just starting to come to grips with everything.

**A dirty chain link fence.**  
The literal and proverbial fence that is blocking New York from his towers, even though they no longer exist, or just the idea that New York can't do anything to change what has happened. I'm sure that, if he had the chance, he would have thrown himself fully into helping clear the site and find citizens' remains…

**Broken lenses on the floor.**  
New York's glasses broke during/after the attack, but I also meant that though the towers (broken lenses) are gone and the debris cleared away, they're still there in spirit. The people who witnessed the attack will never forget what happened that day, and I'm sure New York won't either. Maybe in one hundred years only a few people will still commemorate the anniversary (kind of like our generation and Pearl Harbor), but the memory of it will still be there. Maybe the broken lenses are crushed to dust, but they still exist.

Basically, it's a big play on the 'Never Forget' slogan, which is very important, but in my honest opinion it is much overused and cliché.

Thank you all so much for giving me so much support throughout this fic, as it really has been awesome to write. I hope it touched you guys as much as it touched me to write it. If you really loved it, please leave a comment tellin me, as I would love to hear your opinions.

Also, I want to give some credit to some fics that inspired me. "October Twenty Fourth" by lilien passé on and "8:46 a.m." by SmileySmackdown on dA gave me a lot of inspiration for this fic, so you should go read both if you haven't already. They're awesome, but just as a warning, "October Twenty Fourth" is really, really depressing.

On that note, this isn't truly the end of this story, but the part about the actual 9/11 attacks is mostly over. I have an idea of a story I want to write which is kind of a sequel to this (but could stand alone), but I leave for the summer in about three weeks, so I'm not sure if I'll actually get it done. It wont be anywhere near as long as this, but probably still a long one-shot.

All states and provinces belong to their creators.


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